Mice and Men 



BY 

MADELEINE LUCETTE RYLEY 




FRENCH, If W«#t M* ft. New ¥Mk 



MICE AND MEN 

A ROMANTIC COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 

BY 

MADELEINE LUCETTE RYLEY 



Copyright, 1909, by Hugh Reynolds and Dame Forbes 
Robertson, Executors of the Author. 



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"MICE AND MEN' 



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MICE AND MEN 



CHARACTERS: 

Mark Embury (A scholar, scientist, and philosopher) 

Roger Goodlake (His friend and neighbour) 

Captain George Lovell (His nephew) 

Sir Harry Trimblestone 

Kit Barniger (A fiddler and a professor of deportment) 

Peter (Embury's servant) 

Joanna Goodlake (Wife of Goodlake) 

Mrs. Deborah (Embury's housekeeper) 

Peggy ("Little Britain") 

Matron (Of the Foundling Hospital) 

Beadle (Of the Foundling Hospital) 

Molly (A kitchen maid) 



Place: Old Hampstead, Period: About 1786. 



••MICE AND MEN." 

ACT I. 
April 

Scene. -Mark Embury's study ; a low raftered* tmoatniy 
room ; a casement window at back o. open, wiM trine* trained 
round the outside ; at R. 1st b. a door with a brass disc ana 
a small catch to indicate a spring lock ; thefumituretsplatn 
to severity ; two or three straight-backed wooden chairs* 
writing-table up R.c. ; rough cabinet at L. ; small wooden 
bench at L. ; rough shelves with scientific books ; a draughts- 
man's table upper L. with carpenter's tools ; some stuffed 
animals and birds on shelves ; maps and charcoal drawings 
on walls; globular charts, etc., on writing table; an oblong 
kitchen-table with drawer at R. end down near a ; table has 
on it implements for chemical experiments, etc.; also a smaU 

Sirit lamp, burning ; table is placed at a slight angle %n the 
rection of the door ; the floor is bare. 
At rise of curtain Peter is tidying the room with the aid of 
a mop ; presently there is a knocking at the door ; Peter 
looks up, but continues to sweep towards the bench; 
the knock is repeated impatiently ; Petek leans the mop 
against bench, crosses slowly to R., releases the catch and 
opens door ; Mrs. Deborah, a portly dame, appears 
on the threshold ; she wears cap and a black apron, 

Mrs. D. {impatiently) Peter, I vow you are worse than ft 
■cullery wench when it comes to wasting my precious time. 
I want that mop. (she takes a step forward) 

Peter, {waving her back) Bide there, and I II bring it to 
you. (fetches it.) This be sacred ground up here, and house- 
keepers is forbidden to trespass, (bows ironically) 

Mrs. D. (snatching the mop) Drat your impudence. One d 
suppose I was a kitchen wench instead of being a reduced 
gentlewoman with a line of forbears. 

Peter. That's the point. You be a gentlewoman, not ft 
gentleman, and Mr. Embury cannot abide a petticoat 
(lowers his voice. ) It's been said that a burnt child dreads the 
fire, Mrs. Deborah, and I've heard it put about that some 
years ago a la< 1 y of fashion 

Mrs D. Tut, man, it's beneath a woman of my family to 
listen to idle gossip, quickly) Would she be light or dark, 



• MICE AND HEN. 

think ytm t (Petbr shakes his head and turns io o.) I 
warrant she was one of your gay fly-by -nights. Philosophers 
always take to that kind, just to balance their wisdom, and 
keep them fools same as the rest of mankind. 

Peter. Not so loud, Mrs. D. ; the master's gone but to the 
garden gate with his nephew, Captain Lovell. (he spies a 
small object on the floor ; he picks it up, goes to the window and 
examines it) 

Mrs. D. (following him by R. of table R.) What is it you've 
found, Peter ? It looks like a woman's miniature, (edges 
nearer to get a glimpse of it ; he places it behind his back) 
Who could have dropped it, think you ? 

Peter. Nay, Mrs. Deborah, if I were to tell you what I 
think, why, then you'd be as wise as I. (looks out) Quick ! 
Mr. Embury's coming back with Captain Lovell. No, 'tain'fe 
the Captain who's with him now, but Mr. Goodlake. (hustles 
her to door) 

Mrs. D. (gomg out) I'll not break my neck, not I, for all 
the men in Christendom, (exit) 

Peter looks at the locket, hesitates ; then, hearing voice* 
outside, puts it in his pocket. 

Embury (outside) Careful, neighbour, the steps aif 
shallow. 

Enter Mark Embury, followed by Roger Goodlake ; 
Embury is plainly dressed, almost to asceticism ; his 
hair, tohich is somewhat long, is without powder and 
tied with a ribbon ; he is about forty-two years old, and 
has a grave but kindly manner ; Goodlake is about 
fifty-five ; he is fashionably clothed in a juvenile manner ; 
he wears powder, etc., and carries himself in a vigorous 
and sprightly fashion ; he speaks emphatically and in a 
loud voice j Embury crosses behind tabls to chair l. of 
table. 

Goon, (panting for breath) A devilish staircase, Embury, 
and better than the family Bible for discovering a man's real 
age. (looks round the room) Strike me if it isn't the old hay- 
loft, you've turned into a study ! What's the meaning on't ? 

Embury. Tis merely a device to ensure a stricter privacy. 
My work has suffered much from interruption of late. 

Peter brings a tobacco jar from cabinet upper l. , then 
pipes ; he places them beside Goodlake, who proceeds 
to fill pipe ; Petek retires up r. to table ; Goodlak* 
mis on chair R. of table r. 



MICE AND MEN. & 

Ooob fcad ! I remember. Joanna has told me something 
concerning the arrival of a housekeeper, (laugh*) Mark 
Embury, the hermit, with a female flunkey in 1« "toue. 
Oh Lord, we'll make a man of fashion out of you yet. tfut 
what has set the ball a rolling ? 

Embury. All in good time, Roger, (turns and goes up o.) 
Get you below. Peter. You may leave the door ooen. The 
draught will scatter the fumes of Friend Goodlake s ungodly 
weed, (exit Peter r. carrying off paU and duster) 

Good, (laving pipe aside) I'm not much in the humour for 
It to-day. In truth I'm vexed-sorely- damnably vexed I 
About a lost miniature. A portrait of Joanna The hand- 
gomest woman in Europe, though she is my wife. I could 
have taken oath I left it in my cabinet when I set out on my 
journey six weeks ago. (Embury sits in chair l. of table c) 
J Embury. I trust you find your lady in flourishing 

h6 GooD. (enthusiastically) Fresh as a newly opened rose, and 
uncommon pleased at my return I wager 'tis not every 
truant spouse who receives so hearty a welcome. 

Embury. Tis not every one who deserves it. 

Good True, though I'll take no credit. When a man 
possesses a pink-a pearl -a paragon-(/^<*» irresolutely) I 
could sometimes wish Joanna were a little less vivacious, 
though it is not unnatural in one of her years, (lights pipe 

"^Embuby. Do not lay on Nature the faults of Society, 
friend Roger. If women are in general feeble in body and 
in mind, it is the fault of our modern education ; we 
encourage a vicious indolence, which we call delicacy. We 
teach them useless arts. We breed them to insincerity, and 
then we wonder at their fickleness and duplicity, (rues and 

goes up C.) 

Good. Ah, I'd forgotten, I was putting a spur to your 
hobbyhorse. You are for training the youngsters like 

8a EMB^RY a (comm 9 doum c again) I'd have them instructed 
In simplicity, and Nature is the only dame who teaches it 

Good, (shaking his head) I had a relative who put the 
scheme into practice, with but poor result. 

Kmbury. He started too late, maybe. 

Good Ye Gods ! The child was but three weeks old. 

Embury. Much too late. He should have begun with the 
mother. To make great men, one must first perfect a 
woman, (qoina up C.) 

Good, (boisterously) Gad' Of all your mighty theories, 
'tis the best yet. 



6 MICE AND MEN. 

Embuby. (at back of table ». ) Suppose I told yon It wai 

my design to put it to the proof ? 

Good, (laying down his pipe in astonishment) Mr. Embury, 
I should say you had gone mad — stark, staring mad. 

Embury, (laying a hand on Goodlake's shoulder) Nay, 
dear friend, I am sound enough, and being sound it is my 
duty to perpetuate my race. If I can perform that duty 
scientifically, I satisfy a rational curiosity, the result of 
which may be a permanent benefit to mankind. 

Good. So you'd marry for an experiment, eh t 

Embury. All men marry for an experiment, friend, though 
they haven't all my altruistic excuse. 

Good. Whate'er the excuse, 'tis a venture that's hedged 
with disappointment. 

Embuby. Because passion is allowed to replace judgment. 

Good. True, but damme if I can see where you are 
better equipped for the game than the rest of us. 

Embury, (smiling) One who has already passed through 
the measles will, it is popularly believed, be thereafter 
impervious to the disease. My love days are passed, old 
friend ; ergo, (smiles) I am ripe for marriage. 

Good, (laughing) And the required attributes of the 
future Mrs. Embury ? 

Embury. She must have a taste for the sciences ; be 
chaste, but not prudish ; simple as a mountain maid ; 
fearless as the Spartan wives— in short, with all the virtues 
of her sex, and none of its weaknesses. 

Good. Lord above us ! And where are you going to find 
the creature ? 

Embury . It is a discovery that I have long despaired of, 
and so, as I have intimated, it is my intention to begin with 
the raw material. But the thing's as good as done, (takes 
a letter from the table at back) Through my attorney I've 
made application to the directors of the Foundling Hospital. 
Here is their reply, (hands letter to Goodlakb, and sits on 
chair l. of table) 

Good, (reading) " Dear Sir, — The hfgh mora) probity of 
your philanthropic client is too widely known to admit of a 
doubt as to his honourably discharging his avowed inten- 
tions. On his agreeing to the conditions herein imposed we 
will send, in charge of our Matron and the Beadle, several 
girls, from among whom he may choose a ward." (laying 
paper on the table) What are the conditions ? 

Embury, (reading from another sheet) "Should the said 
Mark Embury renounce his intention of marrying his ward 
when of suitable age, he must bequeath to her an adequate 
allowance. Secondly, a nurse, governess, or female custodian 



MICK AND MEN. 



of respectable antecedents must be engaged to reside in the 

house, to preserve the social amenities." 

Good. That then explains the Housekeeper. 

Embury, (nodding) A lady of a prodigious pedigree, {n- 
mime* reading) "Thirdly, the girl must be apprenticed to a 
married man, residing in the vicinity, who will give bonds for 
the fulfilment of conditions one and two. 

Good. And where in all Hampstead are you going to nnd 
this accomplice to your cracked -brained scheme ? 

Embury, (rising) He is already found. 

Good H'm— I warrant he's not respectable. 

Embury, (going behind table r.) His name is the synonym 
for all the virtues. 

Good. The devil it is I . 

Embury. His language is apt to trip when he is heated, 
but he is a most worthy gentleman and they call him 
Roger Goodlake. (patting him on shoulder.) 

Good, {rising with a burst of passion But damme ! I wont 

°Embury. (l. of table, smiling) You've done it. Your name 
has been accepted, and it is your proud privilege to assist n 
the selection of my-of our— ward, (looks at his watch and 
comes down l.) The samples will be arriving shortly. 

Good. By Gad, Mr. Embury, this is a pretty advantage to 
take of a man in his absence. It's-it's-monstrous : (hu 
vassion gradually subsides into a chuckle) Monstrous absurd. 
?«/») Oh Lord ! Training up a child on Philosophic pap, or 
every Gentleman his own Wife-raiser, gatigto) I trust 
you'll deck her in becoming loin clothes. Ha-ha-ha I 

Embury. Nay, do not scoff, Roger, for never was a man 
more earnest, or more hopeful than I. 

Good. But it's your stupendous audacity, thinking to re- 
mould a bit of human nature, and female human nature at 

that. . . 

Embury. As the twig is bent the tree is formed. 

Good. Bending the twig will never make a willow of a 
poplar. Is it your plan to inform the girl as to your ultimate 
intention ? M . 

Embury. No. That had best remain a secret for the pre- 
sent, (goes down l.c. to seat l.) . 

Good. Then I'll not tellJoanna. (rising and crossing to 0.) 
Lord ! That reminds me I'm intrusted with a commission. 
It concerns your nephew, Captain Lovell. Joanna, whose 
maternal instinct is surprising in one of her years, has,w 
seems, had her sympathies aroused on behalf of your scape- 
grace. . . 

Embupy goes to bookcase for book, then s%U as u 



8 MICE AND MEN. 

Embury. How o>mes Mrs. Goodlake to be acquainted with 
my nephew's supposed injuries? 

Good. She has it from her cousin, Sir Harry Trimblestone, 
that Lovell is being plaguily ill used by you, in consequence 
of some scrape the youngster has fallen into, and her tender 
heart is for pleading him a pardon. 

Embury, (coldly) I regret having to deny aught to a lady 
— and your wife, but Captain Lovell received my ultimatum 
in this room, scarce half an hour ago. 

(iooD. By your look there is more behind the fence. 
What's he been after ? (smiles) Is it a woman, think 
you ? 

Embury (rising gravely). I fancy there Ib generally * 
woman, friend Roger. 

Good (chucJcling) Lord, you're right. But how 'twould 
shock Joanna. I wonder who is the baggage ? 

Peter appearing at door. 

Peter. Mistress Goodlake (Goodlake turns to Pbtbe) de- 
sires to know whether she may venture to intrude. 
Embury. Beg her to come up. 

Peter witkdraivs. Embury paces up and down. He it 
down l. as Joanna enters. 

Good, (proudly) Mark you, Embury, she cannot bear me 
out of her sight for ten minutes, (quickly) Perhaps she has 
found the miniature, (goes excitedly through door and speaks 
outside) Be careful, my love. Tis a devil of staircase for 
beauty's feet to climb. Take my hand — so. (heleads Joanna 
in ; she is about twenty-eight, fashionably dressed, and with an 
airot supreme vanity. Goodlake kisses her hand.) 

Joanna, (in front of door, pettishly) There, there, Mr. 
Goodlake. You all but stepped on my gown, (curtseys to 
Embury) So polite of you to allow me to come up. (looks 
round) And what a sweet, romantio place. (Embury bows 
coldly. Joanna goes c. ) 

Good. (r. impatiently) You're brought news of the 
miniature, Joanna ? 

Joanna, (petulantly) The miniature I Will you never have 
done harping on that miniature. It has probably been cast 
on the heath with the carpet shaking. What think you, 
Mr Embury % Is it not poor taste in him to regret so much 
the portrait when he still has the original ? 

Embury. 'Tis not uncommon in man, madam, to prize an 
object out of all proportion to its worth, (down L.) Will you 
be seated ! 



MICE AND MEN. 



Tn.™^ <meerinqM You are vastly polite, sir. (««• * of 
Ju: !Tt teeKi/Mr. Goodlake had been gone an age. ao 

*5SS ^r^^wSof the trip* to MA 

"joSST f!X Goodlake. Your credulity to amazing. 

1 r^ BvTew^ ^mentioned to Mr. Embury your 

Joanna, {slwcma) aiy w intercede, Lord 

A ^ ffi k te yo ".npHed just now that your cousin's 

you will not cast so impetuous a youth -for so does Hair. 

^^•alfthe £ung 'rascals fU here to the dockyard. 
Xr^SS?fi S eM, Goodie to 
place my nephew as far from temptation as it be possible. 
Mrs. Deborah appears in the doorway. 



Mrs. D. The foundlings are arrived, sir. 
Embury. Conduct them here 



kIBURY. WHiuutu «"»'" aw- — 

Mrs D. retires ; Embury places book in east and *me$ 
down l ; foundlings heard tramping off R. 

liking for girls, (goes up c. by l. of table r.) 



10 MICE AND MEN. 

Goodlam goes to Embury's a. Enter Mrs. Drborah | 

she goes up to Joanna a 

Bra dle. (heard off) Now then, get into line. 

Girls heard marking time. Enter Matron of the Hospital 
followed by the Beadle, a pompous little man, and a 
string of the girls, ranging from eleven to sixteen years 
of age. 

Bradle. Ready to stop — Stop I 

The girls halt ; they are of various complexions and are all 
dressed in the Foundling uniform ; some have closely 
cropped heads ; the tallest have their hair tightly plaited 
excepting Little Britain, who comeslast but one ; her 
hair is in curls tied back ; the Matron arranges the 
girls in an oblique line, then turns each girl to face, 
finishing up ivith number ten, occasionally prodding one 
with her umbrella ; this over, the Beadle waves the 
Matron aside and steps into the foreground ; Littlr 
Britain, who is stationed last but one B. , continually 
tuiitches her shoulders. 

Beadle. Now, then (to girls) Now when I say three, show 
your manners, co-incidentally. One — two — (one girl makes an 
abrupt curtsey) Look at that. There be a pretty piece for a 
object of charity. (Matron shakes her umbrella at the offender) 
Once more. One — two — three ! (they all bob together, except 
last at right end, who is rubbing her eyes with the comer of her 
apron. The Beadle thumps his stick on the ground. Littlb 
Britain nudges her neighbour, ivho furtively slaps her in 
return, then bobs) Well, what are you so subsequential 
for? 

10th Gr. Please, I've got something in my eye. 

Beadlb. Then you've no business to have things in your 
eye. This ain't a half holiday. (Little Britain jerks her 
shoulders) Number nine, stop wriggling. (Matron shakes her 
umbrella wamingly. Beadle turns) Which gentleman is the 
guardian presumptive ? (Embury bows) Then, sir, the 
inquisitorial may proceed, (goes down R.) For their healths 
><n*titutions there's Mrs. Witchet. (the Matron curtseys) 
1 :mds and morals, here is me. 

Embury, (steps to o. then turns. To Goodlakb) Go you for- 
wail Hoger. and question the maids. 

(>oo». Nay, go you. It is your funeral, not mine. 

Kmbdry. (nervously) I — I— fear I scarce know how to pal 
the in at their 



MICE ANT) MEN. 11 

Good. Tie easy done, (winks'* Watch me. (goes to tenth 
girl at a. and chucks her under the chin) Damme, but you're* 
prodigious fine wench. 

Joanna, (peremptorily) Mr. Goodlake ! 

Good. Coming, Joanna, my love, (he goes up to wmdoio.) 

Embury, (timidly going to 1st Girl) What is your name, 
child? 

(tjrl. (with a bob) Be vis Marks. 

Embury, (nervously) Ah, yes, yes. (moves to number 
tiro) And yours 1 

2nd G. (bobbing) Stepney Green. (He passes along the 
row in some dismay. As his eye catches each Girl she bobs a 
curtsey, and calls outlier name.) 

3rd G. Clare Market. 

4th G. Highbury Barn. 

6th G. Charing Cross. 

6th G. Ivy Lane. 

7th G. Great Turnstile. 

8th G. Leicester Fields. 

9th G. Little Britain. 

10th G. Amen Corner. 

Embury. (Down r. in astonishment) Heavens ! And who 
gave you those names ? 

All G. (Together, suddenly, in a mechanical chant) My 
Godfathers and Godmothers in my baptism, wherein I was 
made 

Beadle exclaims violently i0 Ush! 'Ushf 'Ush!" and 
pounds with his stick to invoke silence. They cease. 
Goodlakb comes down by l. of Be ad lb. 

Beadle, (to Embury) 'Tis our Hospital's custom to call 
them after the localizations they come from. 

Good, (l.) Hang me, if it isn't monstrous ingenious. 
Come, Embury,, choose your district, (lowers his voice.) 
Number Five suggests an equable climate. 

Matron. A trifle weak in the chest, sir. Whereas 
Leicester Fields is— (points to 8th Girl.) 

Beadle, (waving Matron aside and crossing to l.o.) A 
neaithy tartar. Take my advice, sir, don't have a red-headed 
one. Now if you want an uncommon fine waif you can't do 
better than Stepney Green, (moves over to table r. and points 
to No. 2.) 

Good. I swear her countenance would assure you 
undisturbed possession, neighbour. 

Embury. The maid next the end there appears straight 
and sound of limb, (points to Little Britain) 

Matron, (shaking her liead) Aye, she 's sound enough. 

B 



12 MICE AND MEN. 

Embury. Tfo an engaging face, suggesting many posai* 
bilities. 

Beadle. A mask for her deviltries. (Littlb Britain twmt 

her profile) 

Embury. Her hair is longer than the others. 

Matron. She'll ne'er stand still to have it cropped, 

Emburt. Bid her come hither. (Beadle advances to o.) 

Beadle. Little Britain I Ready to step forward— Step I 
(he goes down R.; she comes to c. twitching her shoulder.) 

Embury. How old are you, Little Britain ? (she mutely 
glances at Beadle) 

Beadle. Sixteen, sir. 

Embury. You are tall for your age. Do you think you 
would like to live here, and be my ward ? (she looks at 
the Beadle) 

Beadle. I warrant she'd like it well enough. 

Embury, (to Little Britain) Why don't yon reply for 
yourself. 

Peggy, (glancing at Beadle) He likes doing it. (she 
twitches her shoulder. 

Good. She seems troubled with St. Vitus' dance. Tis a 
malady not uncommon in the young. 

Embury. Tell us, have you long been afflicted with these 
twitchings ? (she shakes her head) Do you know aught of the 
cause? 

Peggy. Yes. There's a pin sticking in my back. 

Embury turns to Goodlake who laughs boisterously j 
Matron places her umbrella against table, goes to 
Little B. and removes pin. 

Embury. She appears to be a straightforward and simple 
girl, so if she be willing, we may regard the matter as settled. 
(crosses to r. c. Goodlake folloius \ Beadle r, produces a 
document which he hands to Embury, who glances over it with 
Goodlake) 

Matron, (to Little Britain; Hark ye, child, to your 
vast good fortune. (Little Britain puts her apron to her eyes) 
There, there, you've naught to fret at. Faith, I begin to 
like you better now I'm to be troubled with you no more 
(draws her aside) I've got somewhere a bright new sixpence. 
(feels in her pocket) Ah, here 'tis, (gives it) Remember always 
to be humble to your betters and comb your hair straight at 
the parting. Now give me a kiss, (embraces ker} And 
promise never to forget that you had the honour to be 
Drought up a foundling, (she turns to the girls whom she 
arranges in Um ready for departure with faces turned toward* 
iheu) 



MICE AND MEN. IS 

Embury. Go you, Roger, with the Beadle and seal the 
eontract. (Goodlake and Beadle go to the door) 

Matron. Mr. Nole, we're waiting for the word. 

Beadle, (turning) Ready to march. March 1 (txeunt 
Beadle and Goodlake. 

The Matron marshals the girls round by L. of t&Ue ; 
they bob a curtsey to Embury as they pass; Littli 
Britain follows them to door and embraces each cn» 
who goes out, except the girl tvho has slapped her ; sfo 
returns the slap, then suddenly repenting she embraces 
her. Exeunt girls and Matron ; Little B. follows to 
door r. 

Embury, (when the girls are all off) Come here, Little 
Britain, (she approaches and he gazes at her seriously) I've a 
mind to call you Peggy. May I ? (she nods) 'Tis a name I 
much admire. Think you as Guardian and ward we shall 
suit? 

Peggy, (curtseying) Yes, sir, I thhik you'll— you'll do. 

Embury, (smiling) I promise to earn your esteem if effort 
can secure it. (turns to c.) 

Peggy, (impulsively seizing his hand) And you won't cut 
oft my hair ? 

Embury. Nay, I think not. (withdraws his hand) You 
are nervous, Peggy. We must practise repose, (leads her to 
bench) A few passages of Homer repeated in a measured — 
but I fancy you are not acquainted with Homer. 

Peggy. Homer ! It it anything like the multiplication 
table ? 

Embury, (smiling) They are not altogether dissimilar in 
their conclusions. So you know the tables ? 

Peggy. Up to five times twelve. 

Embury. Then repeat them slowly till I return. Mrs. 
Deborah. (Mrs. D. comes down a step) This is my ward. I 
corii mend her to your good care, Mrs. Goodlake. (goes to 
door) I'll not be long, Peggy, (exit ; Mrs. D. comes down 
with Joanna from behind table) 

Mrs. D. (looking at Little B. from R. of table) A sad 
sight, ma'am. 

Joanna, (down c. staring at her) It puts one in the 
vapours to look at the hapless creature. 

Mrs. D. She has a sweet face. 

Joanna. That'll be no passport to her keeper's favour. I 
warrant he'll make her do penance for every dimple. The 
Ogre ! (Little B. begins to cry) 

Mrs. D. See, ma'am, you've affrighted her. (gomg to her) 
There, my dear, no need to cry till you're hurt, and come 



14 MICE AND MEN. 

what may, Mrs. Deborah will be your friend, so give her » 

kiss, {kisses fosr) 

Joanna, (coming down and thrusting Mrs. D. aside) Mercy, 
but my commiseration for one is like to make me forget there 
is another who stands in even greater need of consolation. 
(sighs and produces little looking-glass and powder-box from her 
pocket) I pray you, girl, hold this, that I may take a glimpse 
at my rueful countenance. (Little B. takes glass and gazes 
admiringly at Joanna as she settles her skirts and powders her 
face) I declare I'm a fright, (sighs) Such are the ravages of 
grief — especially a grief we can't discourse on. Lower, girl, 
lower that 1 may see my waist. Tis proclaimed by one who 
knows the smallest in the world. (Little B. lowers the glass, 
still gazing at Joanna) The child is lost in admiration of my 
gown, (puts the glass, etc., in her pocket) 1 warrant 'tis a 
brief acquaintance she'll have with silk and satin, (laughs) 
Sackcloth gives better service, and the wearer's attention is 
not distracted from the sciences, (laughs) Good-bye, child. I 
look to you, Mrs. Deborah, to loosen the bars sometimes and 
let the prisoner visit me, for her relaxation, (exit through 
door; — outside) Mercy! These stairs. 

During this scene Mrs. D. takes letters from table R. to 
table upper R. , then goes to table down R. and arranges it ; 
she then follows Joanna of and pulls the door after her; 
it closes with snap; Peggy, as she is noiv to be called^ 
looks round the room and realising her loneliness begins 
to cry ; she checks herself presently as she remembers her 
task. 

[mechanically) Twice one are two — twice two are 

iree are six — (her attention wanders to the 

f the room, and she looks round with nxe 

en i iosity ; presently she tries the door and finding it will not 

open, sinks on the floor and covers her face with her apron) 

A head is seen outside the casement window and Captain 
George Lovell, clinging to a vine, peeps in, then lie 
raises himself to the sill, throws his leg over and cautiously 
enters ; he is a handsome fellow of about 23 or 25, clad 
in regimenteds ; not perceiving Peggy he begins hunting 
about the floor ; while he is half under the table, Peggy 
utters another faint cry for help ; he puts his head out 
and stares. 

Lovell. Hillo, there 1 (Peoqy removes her apron and stare$ 
4s% return) Hillo, Missy, who the devil are you ? 

Peggy, (rising and bobbing a curtsey) I am Mr. Embury'i 
trard. I've just been adopted. 



MICE AND MEN. 15 

Lovell. (rising and laughing) Just been adopted. No 
Wonder you cried for help. 

Peggy. It was because the door wouldn't open. 

Lovell. Scared by a spring lock, eh ? Tis an excellent 
device, (nods) Though I'm puzzled to divine how a man 
with no creditors came to think on't. Reassure yourself, 
Missy. Uncle Admirable means you no harm. He is gentle- 
ness personified to all save one. (botvs) Yours to command 
is most uncommon deep in his black books just now. 

Peggy, (looking at window) Did you come through there, 
•ir? 

Lovell. Yes. (laughs) What are you looking for — my 
wings ? We latter-day spirits have no need of pinions to fly 
from a dun's persistence, or to our own undoing, (looks 
about the floor) I suppose you haven't seen anything here- 
abouts of a locket with a portrait on the front. 

Peggy, (shaking her head and kneeling on the floor) Let ms 
look. You'll spoil your beautiful clothes. 

Lovell. (laughing) 'Pon my soul, you're a diverting little 
piece. So you admire my trappings, eh ? 

Peggy, (gravely) They are very handsome, and so an 
jrou. 

Lovell. (half drawing his sword) Madam, 'tis clear yoa 
have a discerning eye. Permit me to salute you. (salute* 
with hand) 

Peggy, (approaches him) Could you open that door ? 

Lovell. I warrant I could, though I scarce perceive the 
Immediate necessity, unless you are still afraid. 

Peggy. I am not afraid now — while you are here. 

Lovell. Then you'd best invite me to remain. Come, 
ask me to sit. (she looks up timidly, then suddenly bursts out 
with her forgotten task) 

Peggy. Twice one are two — twice two are four — twice— 

Lovell. Whoa ! Halt ! What new game is this ? 

Peggy. It is my task, sir. 

Lovell. A fig for your task, (crosses to r., then turns U 
her aiid slowly backs her towards bench l.) And by the way, 
my name is not sir, but George— George Lovell. What is 
yours, pretty one ? 

Peggy. Little Britain, but Mr. Embury is to call me 
Peggy. 

Lovell. Then sit down, Peggy, and let us talk, (she sits 
on bench l., and he sits on chair h.o. ; he smiles ; she smiles) 
So you 're not afraid of me ? 

Peggy. Not a bit — George. 

Lovell. Yet I've been told I'm a dangerous fellow, and 
within the hour too. 



16 MICE AND MEN. 

Peggy. Do you always enter at the window when yon 
visit Mr. Embury ? 

Lovbll. (laughing) Nay, I mostly prefer the door, but I 
came in to seek for something that has escaped my pocket. 
The friend who gave it me will be much concerned if I do 
not bear it on my journey. 

Peggy. You are bound on a journey ? 

Lovell. (nodding) My pulse has been a little feverish of 
late, and I am oidered a change of climate, (springing 
up impatiently) Gad ! But I don't take kindly to the 
medicine. 

Peggy. Then what causes you to go ? 

Lovell. Causes ? The first — the foremost of all causes, 
Peggy- I' ve been running with a petticoat. 

Peggy. With a long petticoat 1 (he nods ; she looks at her 
won ankle skirts) It is hard to run with a long petticoat. 

Lovell. It is harder not to, sweetheart, (going toward* 
her) If you promise not to tell, I'll describe her to you. 
Blue eyes with dark lashes, and arched brows. Bewitching 
hands and feet, and the daintiest waist ever imprisoned by 
brocade. 

Peggy. Is her name Joanna ? 

Lovell. What ! You've seen her ? (she nods ; he goes down 
E.c.) She's been here to beard the lion as she promised. 
With little result, I'll be bound. 

Peggy. Is she sorry you have to go away ? 

Lovell. Sorry ! (comes back to c.) I promise you she'll 
weep her eyes out. 

Peggy. And the old gentleman, will he weep his eyes out 
too? 

Lovell. (coughs) I'd scarce guarantee that. Old gentle- 
men have but little sympathy with ^e object of their wives' 
sisterly regard. 

Peggy. You are her brother then ? 

Lovell. (nodding) By adoption. But I'd ask you not to 
make gossip of the fact. Since you are to live here you'll see 
much of sweet Joanna. Sweet sister Joanna, (goes up to 
window and Peggy crosses to r.o.) Her house lies yonder. 
(points and kisses his hand towards it.) 

Peggy, (r.c.) It must be beautiful to have a brother. 

Lovell. (coming down L.) It is, coz, ifc is. 

Peggy. I wish I had a brother. 

Lovell. H'm— you may have some day. 

Peggy. Is Mr. Embury any— anybody's brother 1 

Lovell. (shaking his head) He'd like to have been once* 
but she jilted him. 

Peggy, (trying to pronounce the word) Jilted t 



MICE AND MEN. 17 

Lovell. Yes, jilted — him. Since then he has forsworn the 

world and womankind. 

Peggy, (anxiously) Will you come back when the fever is 
cured — George ? 

Lovell. Perhaps. 

Peggy. How long will it take t 

Lovell. (doum l.) My sentence calls for two years, 
confound his heartlessness. 

Peggy, (crossing close to him) Couldn't you get cured 
without going away ? 

Lovell. (looking at her amusedly) Maybe I could pretty 
one. (he motions her to sit ; she sits r. end of bench ; he sits 
L. end.) But poor people cannot do as they will. 

Peggy. Are you poor ? 

Lovell . Fairly out at elbows, except we reckon by debta. 

Peggy. You should pay your debts. 

Lovell. With what, sweet Peggy ? I swear you are ft 
condiment for the most jaded appetite. 

Peggy. You mean you have no money. 

Lovell. The oracle has spoken. 

Peggy. I will lend you some, (rises and goes to G. and 
pr< duces her sixpence ; he rises) 'Twas the Matron's parting 
gift, but I've never had so large a piece, and should not 
know how to spend it. Why do you not take it ? 

Lovell. I scarce think it would go far enough to satisfy 
all my creditors and 'tis unwise to crente a jealously, (she 
locks disappointed and sits in chair ji. of table) I thank you 
for the offer pretty coz. (goes to table and sits on it) I've a 
notion that given the opportunity we'd have been good 
friends. You remind me of a song I sometimes chant to the 
harpsichord. It runs thus, Peggy, (sings in a low voice) 

O my love is like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June ; 
My love is like a melody, 

That's sweetly played in tune. 
As fair art thou, my bonny lass, 

So deep in love am I, 
And I will love thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

(pause) I wonder if you'd send me a letter sometime! 
with news of Hampstead— and — and — the neighbours ? Rut- 
land Barracks, Dublin, will rind me. (steps down to c.) 

Peggy, (sadly rising) I cannot write. 

Lovell. Ah, that's a pity. A great pity, (there is a noise 
en the stair ; Peggy goes to door r.) 'fc>h ! I must be gone. 



18 MICE AND MEN. 

Uncle Admirable would not favour this mode of entrance to 
his study, (she motions him to open the door ; he goes to it) 
Wait, I'll first raise the catch. It goes stiffly, and one must 
employ a knack, (he quietly moves the catch on the door, then 
runs to the window, climbs out, and putting his finger to his 
lips, disappears ; she sits demurely on the bench and commence* 
her tables ; a step is heard outside) 

Enter Embury. Peggy rises. 

Embury. Ah, Peggy. 'Twas not intentionally that Mrs* 
Deborah closed the door. How did you manage to loosen 
the catch? (she goes to L.c.) 'Tis somewhat hard, (pause) 
How did you accomplish it ? 

Peggy. I employed a knack, (she curtseys) 

Embury. Do not curtsey thus, child. The manners of 
society have no place in our curriculum. (Peter appears at 
the door) What is it, Peter ? 

Peter, (coming forward) I've been waiting till you should 
be alone, master, (produces miniature) I found this on the 
floor here. 

Embury, (taking it) Here — when ? 

Peter. Just after you and Captain Lovell went out. 

Embury, (frowning) Ah. By-the-by, I want a word with 
Captain Lovell. You'll likely find him over at the Barracks. 
(exit Peter) (Embury places the trinket on the table r., then 
turns and gazes at Peggy) You have not felt lonely in my 
absence 1 (she shakes her head) Good ! You lack not the art 
of self-communion. How is your courage ? (sits on chair b. 
of table) 

Peggy. Very well, thank you, sir. 

Embury. Good again, (takes pistol from drawer) Do you 
perceive this ? (she nods) 'Tis not loaded. Now count, one, 
two, three, (she counts: at three he points pistol at het t 
and pulls the trigger', she gives a scream and a jump) Ah, not 
so good. No matter, we'll do better by and by. Be a good 
girl, Peggy ; and I will show you how to draw a circle and an 
equilaterial triangle. 

Peggy, (quietly) That will be nice. 

Embury. If there's aught that excites your curiosity, I 
beg you'll satisfy yourself by judicious questions. 

Peggy. What is jilted ? (a pause) 

Embury. Jilted? 

Peggy. Yes, jilted. What does it mean ? (rubbing her 
hands nervously) 

Embury, (uneasily) Jilted means deceived, but 'tis 
•carce a word we'll need in our daily practice, (suddenly 
crossing to her) I hope your circulation's good. Twould 



MICE AND MEN. 19 

please me, Peggy, to know you had an inclination to run 

barefoot on the heath in the early morning. Such habits 
harden the body, and make us impervious to disease, (hs 
walks up with his hands behind Mm, then suddenly turns to 
table up r.) Do you know how to shoe a horse ? (she shakes 
her head) Ah, I will show you to-morrow. (Pbtbb appear* 
at door) 

Peter. Captain Lovell, master. 

EMBURy. Bid him come up. (exit Peter ; Embury takes 
the miniature from the table R. , hesitates a moment, Hun places 
it prominently on the floor c. ; Peggy looks wonderingly on 
and sits on bench l. ; enter Lovell) Peggy, (she rises) This 
is my nephew, Captain Lovell. (she curtseys) My ward. 
(Lovell winks at her, then gravely bows ; she tries to guide his 
eyes to the miniature : he perceives it and is about to stoop 
fiohen Embury turns again) 

Lovell. You sent for me, sir. (keeps his eye nervously or* 
miniature) 

Embury, (walking carelessly over the spot) Yes. I had a 
doubt. 'Twas but a small one, still, I desired to satisfy ir. 

Lovell. (r. anxiously) My friends have weakened your 
decisions'? 

Embury. (Sits b. of table) Nay, though they seemed vastly 
anxious to defeat your expedition. 

Lovell. My friends, sir, would naturally be solicitous tor 
my good name. To run away from one's creditors is to 
mislead them in regard to one's ultimate intentions. 

Embury. You may depart with a light conscience, for 'tie 
my design to pay these creditors. 

Lovell. Your generosity shall never be forgotten, uncle. 
But these harpies paid, the necessity for my departure is 
removed. 

Embury. Nay, there are other — more serious dangers. 
(rises and turns to table at back for writing materials which hs 
places on table r ; Lovell quickly picks up the miniature and 
put it in his pocket ; Embury sighs) My resolution if 
unchanged, I'd have you ponder well what you do with the 
next two years. If at the end you have pot your follies 
behind you, your reformation shall receive substantial 
recognition. If, on the contrary— 

Lovell. (sharply) We need Vfc take the contrary into 
Account, sir. 

Embury. I am relieved to hear it. (commute* wrilinf) 

Lovbll. (going towards door) Is there aught else, uncle I 
(Peggy rises and goes to l.c.) 

Embury, (wit Yes. That little ornament yon 

just now picked up. i'ou may take it across to neighbour 



20 MICE AND MEN. 

Goodlake, with my compliments, and say that either he, ot 
his lady must have dropped it during his recent visit, (h% 
advances toward Lovbll) Can I trust you with thii 
commission t 

Lovell. (hesitates, then impulsively extends his hand) You 
can, sir. (Embury takes his hand, he then bows and after a 
surreptitious kiss of his hand to Peggy exits guickly ; Peggy 
gazes wistfully at the door as Lovell's steps are heard descend- 
ing) 

Embury, (with a sigh of relief) That much off our minds, 
Peggy. And now to lay our plans for your education. 
(enthusiastically) We're going to substitute science for 
embroidery — the anvil for the harpsichord — the birds shall 
school us in song and the ants in architecture. 

Peggy, (with a lingering look towards the door) And will 
you — will you — teach me how to write ? 

Embury, (going to r. of table) Aye, you shall do all that 
becomes a maid. Trained in sweet simplicity, unable to 
deceive. 

Peggy. Deceive — that's jilted, isn't it? I'll try not to 
jilt you very often. But please let us — let us to the writing. 

Embury, (choosing a pen) The writing ! (Peggy sits on 
chair u of table) Aye, we'll to the writing, (hands her the 
pen) 



MIOfi AND UE&, 21 



ACT n. 

MaSlOR. Nearly two years later; the living room in Ma. 

Embury's house ; a latched door in a small porch opens on 
to the garden at back ; at L. of door there is a diamond framed 
window ; door at upper r. and another at lower r. ; between 
these doors a ponderous chest of drawers or press, surmounted 
by curtained shelves ; a chair in front of press ; a fireplace at 
L. (no fire) ; near fireplace a large square table and chair, and 
at back between door and window a small ivriting table, with 
quills, ink, writing paper, etc. ; a small chair at writing 
table -, at rise of curtain 

Mrs. Deborah in stiff gown and black silk apron is sitting 
at large table at needlework ; enter Molly, a raw-looking 
maid-servant, from lower a. 

Molly. The pastry things be all ready in the scullery 
Mrs. Deborah. 

Mrs. D. (glancing at clock) Mercy on us ! Nigh on twelve 
o'clock, (rises and folds her work ; figure passes the window 
and a knock is heard at the door) See who's at the door, 
Molly, (goes to press and places workhasket on it) 

Molly opens door and Kit Barniger enters ; he is a 
quaint little, deferential, old-fashioned man, between 
40 and 50 ; he carries a green baixe bag, and a paper 
bag ; his attitudes are suggestive of a minuet ; Mrs. D. 
turns) 

Mrs. D. By all that's welcome, 'tis Kit Barniger, blown 
down from London, just as I am dying for news of the 
fashions. (Kit lays his hat, green bag, and paper bag on the 
table, then gravely kisses Mrs. D. 's extended hand ; she sees the 
green bag) I declare you've brought your fiddle. 

Kit. (l.c. near table, with an apologetic cough) An' please 
you, Mrs. Deborah, 'twould be more correct to say the fiddle 
had brought me. There's to be a grand Masquerade at 
Belsize to-night, and I've been hired to lead the 

Mrs. D. (r.c.) 'Sh ! (turns to Molly, who has been uncon- 
sciously imitating Kit's movements) Don't stand so, Gaby, but 
fetch the pastry board, (exit Molly ; she turns to Kit) I'd 
not for worlds it should get about that I had a relative who 
capered for a living, so give me the fiddle, (he hands her the 
green bag, and she places it in press and takes out a white apron, 
which she puts on) Mr. Embury is all against the assemblies, 



22 MICE AND MEN. 

and his neighbour, Mr. Goodlake, is up in arms about theme 
(returns to o.) But you've not told me what is the latest style 
in petticoats. I hear that waists grow short again, and hoods 
are become prodigious. 

Kit. (undoing paper bag) They needs be to cover the 
heads, ma'am, (takes out an enormous hair pad) I've brought 
you the newest thing among the quality. 

Mrs. D. (taking it) Lord ! A cushion for the hair. 
{examines it) 'Tis elegant, and not even Mrs. Goodlake has 
aught so genteel, (goes behind Kit and L. of table) 'Twill open 
some eyes at church, I'm thinking, (lays pad on table as 
Molly enters with flour barrel, board, and materials for the 
pastry, and then exits) Sit you down, Kit. I'd die of shame 
should Mr. Embury come in, and catch you with your toes 
outpointed so. 

Kit. (meekly obeying) I fanoy I observed Mr. Embury 
working in the garden. 

Mrs. D. Aye, he's trying to grow foreign plants according 
to a theory. 

Kit. And his ward, Miss Peggy. 

Mrs D. (making the pie) Thrives vastly well, bless her, 
when one considers her savage training. She has not a 
single polite accomplishment. She knows not even how to 
swoon, and though nigh on eighteen, will as soon run bare- 
foot as shod, (lowers her voice) But, mark you — (touches him 
with rolling pin across the table ; he disconcertedly moves further 
away) There's a changing of the tables, (laughs) Tis the 
master who's getting to be the pupil now, and he's no more 
notion of it than had Adam when he bit the apple and 
brought us all down to 

Kit. (looking at pad) Hair pads, Mrs. Deborah. 

(Embury and Goodlake pass the window) 

Mrs. D. Hist — somebody's coming. Place it in the paper, 
and see that you turn your toes in. 

Kit conceals the pad as Embury and Goodlake enter 
through door at back ; Embury is much less austere in 
his manner, and looks younger than in the 1st Act ; he 
is in his shirt sleeves with his coat over his arm, and 
carries a flower pot) 

Good, (angrily) Damme, but I'll have these masquerades 
■topped, if I have to carry the matter into Parliament. 
They're drawing all the scum from town. Why, only yester- 
day Joanna was ogled in the street by some city dandy, (sees 
Kit) Ah, who's this ? (Kit has risen and is standing in a 
tharacteristic attitude) 



MICK AND MEN. 23 

Mbs. D. (L. curtseying stiffly) An' please you, Mr. Good- 
lake it is my cousin twice removed. ^„m 

Emrort. (R.) To be sure, and no better credential, could 
he brine, except he were but once removed. 

Mrs D. Thank you kindly, sir. to""!^ *"#**£ 
JnLf,.. Mm to ctage h« «*» Be« th.sjo the 
.oullerv Kit, it is time to think of dinner. (»fce toJ» .<«* 

""Tmb^ry By the way, Mrs. Deborah (At turns) do you 
'^rrMW^'Si. -ly d h He bas ££ 

*- h ^r^^^^ 

be a promising sign. . , , - d « 

Good. H'm— uncommon promising. And the maid ? 
Embu R y. {innocently) Is likewise deeply ^ntswsted » the 

science. She has even sent specimens in return, (rubs *u 

holds) An, I'm progressing, Y^f^^^i tos3 U p 
Good. Ah, you're progressing fast enough. lis a - toss up 

whether you ; il be a finished gardener or a finished fool. («tt 

%mbS. mown the cactus plants have scarce fulfilled 
mv calculations, (places flower pot on window sill) 

Good Ye gods! Who ever heard of growing cacti in e 
ca^eelrT Try yellow turnips, ™ .ft*^*™ 
all England for yellow turnips. To prove it, 1 11 send you a 
basket of my own raising. fi . 

Eistbuey. (pufttnsf few coat on) Bah I The soil my men , 
Ir what the scientific gardener chooses to make it. 

Good. H'm-'twas thus you reasoned when you adopted 

th Er, n KY W (E C ) h And was I not justified? Tell me, old 
ITiflfov where else will you fihd a maid who sets no store by 
™2££*S% w/o has never seen her ownre flection, 
nve perhaps in a meadow pool 1 Wh °7 w ™* _ ivefi h 

•^STSXrWrih a taste for the fence," 

Embury. And does she not love botany -? 

Good. Ah, I'd forgotten the ™W' J^ 1 ,^ 7twUL 
tt the time that dissatisfaction would come of it. ana so 



24 MICE AND MEN. 

Embury. On what rests your argument, Roger t 

Good. On this. She's a woman, and thus predestined to 
mischief. The one safeguard is matrimony, and so you'd do 
well to make her acquainted with your project. 

Embury, (nervously) She's young yet. 

Good. That's a fault she'll overcome without your help. 
Dod's man ? Now's the time for you to act. 

Emburv. And what if I've begun already. (Goodlakb 
looks up ; Embury laughs) Your curiosity makes me half a 
mind to keep you guessing. Nay, I'll tell you. I've 
bought the old South Cottage, on the other side of the hill. 
'Tis tilled with my workmen, who are planning the interior 
anew, and with special reference to the needs of a young 
mistress. 

Good, (sarcastically) And did you begin with the chimney 
pots and work downwards ? For thus would the same man 
do, who'd build the cage before he'd snared the bird. 

Embury, (going towards R. ) Too much precipitance will 
sometime lose a man the prize, (coughs) How think you one 
had best approach — 

Good. A woman ? (rises) As one would pluck a nettle. 
No gingerly touch, as you'd save your skin, but with a firm 
grasp and resolute will. 'Twas thus I won Joanna, (chuckles) 
And 'tis thus I keep her sole regard. 'Tis I who command, 
and she who obeys. Which reminds me, she has ordered 
me to meet the coach. Her cousin, Sir Harry Trimblestone, 
comes on a visit, (goes up) I'll tell my man to bring over the 
basket of yellow turnips. And hark you, see to it that you 

Fluck the nettle ere another saves you the trouble. Lord t 
know women as I know my own head in the glass, (exit j 
Embury walks to and fro buried m thought). 

Embury. A woman ? It seems scarce possible she can be 
a woman, (goes down l.) 

The back door opens and Peggy bursts in ; she is bare- 
footed, and swings her laced shoes over her arm ; 
under her arm she carries two ponderous books ; one 
has a green cover ; she is clad in a simple grey or brown 
f rock y ankle length ; the sleeves are short and there is 
white cambric at the neck ; she wears a bunch of purple 
hyacinths in her bodice ; her hair is in long curls ; she 
is humming the song sung by Lovell in first act (she 
pauses on seeing Embury, and remains shyly up stage) 

Embury. Good morning, Peggy. 

Peggy. Good morning, guardian (moves down r.) 

Embury, (l.o.) Do not run away yet. 



MICE AND MEN. 25 

Pboot. (coming down) You seemed so deep In thought. 

(places books on ledge of press) 

Embury. I was thinking— thinking that perhaps twas 
■carce maidenly to run about so. (glancing at her feet) 

Peggy (trying to hide her feet by standing on one foot at a 
time) "Such habits ^harden the body and render ui 
Impervious to disease." 

Embury, (uneasily) Yes, yes . But now that you are-er— 
Peggy. Quite hardened ? 

Embury. Now that you are older, (halts before her) You 
are older, Peggy. Older than you were. Indeed, I ve a 
notion you must be almost a woman. 
Peggy. Who has told you ? 
Embury. Told me? 

Peggy. Yes. You are so much engaged, you could ne er 
have had the time to find it out for yourself. You are not 
displeased, I hope. 'Tis a thing one cannot avoid. 
Embury. No, I am not displeased. 

Pkggy. (smiling) That is well. You see I wanted to bo 
crown up, and was waiting for you to give your sanction. 
(pauses) I suppose I'd best put on my shoes, (she motions a* 
if to sit on the, floor ; Embury then takes chair from table arid 
places it in c. then turns away ; Peggy turns the chair so that 
it has its back to him and audience, and begins to put on her 
stockings and shoes ; she resumes the refrain she was singing 
when she entered) , . 

Embury, {down l. listening) What is that you are always 

siiv ' niLj ™ 

Peggy, (timidly) 'Tis something I heard a long time ago. 

Embury. Won't you sing it for me, with the words? 

Peggy. I will try, if I may sing it while my back is turned. 

Embury. Yes, yes. (she sings shyly in alow voice verse of 
tone sung by Lovell in Act 1st. It ends with the lines : And 
J will love thee still my dear, till a' tJw seas gang dry ; she rises 
at finish. Embury has crossed to r. during second halj of 
terse ; Peggy on finishing the refrain replaces the chair by table) 

Embu r y (b . repeating and glancing at her dreamily) 1 ill 
a' the seas gang dry." (he turns away and takes up her books 
from the press) It seems you prosecute your studies out of 
doors 'Tis a plan to be commended, (reads title of book) 
" Hume's Inferential Psychology." (reads another) ^ahleos 
Astronomical Calculations." Faith, 'twere hard to find two 
better companions for a country ramble, (goes R.o.) 

Pkggy (with earnestness, taking book) Indeed it is so. Ut 
all the books in your library, there is none will lay a sprig so 
fiat, or press a fern so well, (opens and shows pressed leaves 
between tiie pages, tiien takes up tlie green book) Since Mr. 



26 MICE AND MEN* 

Galileo wears a green coat, I let him mind the shamrocks 
that came from Ireland, (shows shamrocks. He frown i) See. 
Bur I've angered you. How ? Is it my hair ? I cannot 
remedy it. The more I try to comb it straight, the more it 
curls, (takes hold of a ringlet) See for yourself. Pull it. 
Twill not hurt, (he timidly takes the ringlet in his hand) 

Embury. Tis very soft and springy. You need not try to 
straighten it, Peggy, for I fancy I'd not have it other than it 
Is. (he moves away, then turns) Still, I am like to be dis- 
appointed in you. (she murmurs deprecatingly and her fact 
fall a) There, not so much perhaps, but a little. 

Peggy. For my lack of learning, is it ? Is that so grave a 
fault in — in — a girl ? Two learned people in a house, had 
like to make it rather dull, I'm thinking. And then, if I 
were other than I am, I could not be myself, (replaces books 
on shelf and comes to him), and that might cause you dis- 
appointment also. 

Embury, (softly) In truth, I think it might, (turns away) 

Peggy. Then you'll not be vexed with me any more ? For 
I love you best of all I know. 

Embury, (turning nervously to her) You — you love me, 
§aid you ? 

Peggy, (looking him straight in the eyes) Faith, I do. Who 
In all the world is so good ? 

Embury. Ah, and so you love me for my goodness ? 

Pkggy. Yes. (laughs) And if you'll but love me for my 
badness, we shall both merit the other's approbation. 

Embury. For what do you love those wild hyacinths that 
you gather every day ? (points) 

Peggy. For their beautiful colour, (takes some from her 
bodice) Please take some. They'll remind you of your 
promise not to scold me any more. 

Embury. And when they fade, what then? 

Peggy. I'll bring you others. But I've set you frowm'ng 
again. 

Embury, (taking her hand) Nay, child, I was thinking, 
I — I — have something to tell you, something that 

Enter Peter. 

Peter. A paper-hanger would speak with you, master. 

Embury. Show him to the study. I will come, (exit 
P . ; Embury moves up c) 

Peggy. But the secret — you'll not go without — telling me 
the secret. I warrant 'tis something pleasing. 

Embury. I hope 'twill please you. I almost think it will, 
{nervously) But I've scarce time now. 



MICE AND MEN. 27 

Peggy, (disappointed) Is it that you are afraid to trust me 
now that I'm grown up. If you really did love me — 
Embury, (murmuring half to himself) 

" I will love thee still, my dear, 
Till a' the seas gang dry." 

(smiles) Yes, yes, you are a woman. Quite a woman, (exit) 

Peggy, (disconsolately goes down l. then sits on table) It 
would seem that I must have aged a deal since breakfast. 
(she looks round cautiously, then darts to the chest of draicers, 
and takes a small looking-glass ; while she is surveying herself 
enter Mrs. Deborah, lower r.) 

Mrs. D. (r.c.) Mercy ! Did one ever see the like of it ? I 
vow there's no hiding things from young monkeys. Put it 
down, Miss, or as 1 live, your guardian shall hear— 

Peggy, (l.o.) Shall hear that despite his orders, you keep 
in the house a looking-glass, (laughs) 

Mrs. D. A gentlewoman must needs keep her cap straight. 

Peggy, (teasingly) Then so you'll behave well in future, 
I'll not tell him. (dances her round) Mrs Deborah, I'm grown 
up, grown up. What think you of that 1 

Mrs. D. (wrenching herself free, l.c.) Think, madcap? I 
think you'd best show some proof of it. There, put back 
the glass, like my pretty one. (goes to table. Peggy takes 
glass to the press, and while replacing it, she discovers the green 
baa) 

Peggy. Oh, ho ! What is this 1 A fiddle ! (takes it out of bag) 

Mrs. D. (turning) Lord ! You'll be the death o' me. Put 
it down ere Kit catches sight of you. 

Peggy. What ! Kit here ? Dear, captivating Kit. 

Mrs. D. 'Sh ! He is come to conduct the dancing at the 
Masquerade Ball to-night. 

Peggy. A ball ! Happy, hateful, abominable Kit. (she 
capers about) 

(Knock at door ; Mrs. D. motions her to hide the fiddle t 
and goes to the door ; Peggy places fiddle in press. 
Enter Joanna Goodlake) 

Joanna, Good morning, Mrs. Deborah, (she kisses Peggy 
on the forehead) I declare our captive bird looks quite merry. 
(Mrs. D. comes down l.c.) 

Peggy, (excitedly) Have you heard there's to be a ball 
to-night ? 

Joanna, (o., sighing) Alas, yes, child. And i know of 
more than one gallant who'd take me, did I not fear to make 
aiiother jealous. 



28 MICE AND MEN. 

Mrs. D. By Kit's account all Hampstead will be there. Ill 

warrant Captain Lovell has timed his arrival for it. 

Joanna and Peggy (together) Captain Lovell ! 

Mrs. D. Aye, he's to dine here to-day, and Lord ! I've not 
turned the pastry, (bustles off lower r. crossing in front of 
them) 

Peggy, (r.c, excitedly) Mr. Embury hinted he had pleas- 
ing news for me. It must have been this, that George was 
come home. 

Joanna, (l.c, sharply) George! You are uncommon 
familiar with his name. I warn you he'd not like it. He does 
not favour intimacy, save with one. 

Peggy, (inquisitively) Save with one ? 

Joanna, (casting down her eyes) Since you will have it, his 
heart has long been in another's keeping. The notes I've 
given you from time to time to enclose with your fern leaves 
have all borne messages from her. 

Peggy. Her? 

Joanna. His lady love. Er — a close friend of mine. 

Peggy. Is she handsome ? 

Joanna, (coquettishly) That's scarce for me to say, though 
I warrant he thinks so. 

Peggy. 'Tis strange he should have sent her no replies. 

Joanna. Nay, to pretend to have forgotten her is to satisfy 
his relatives. 

Peggy. Will she be at the ball, think you ? 

Joanna. 'Tis possible (turns to Peggy) Do you know I've 
a mind to go myself and you shall go too, Peggy. So you but 
keep my intentions a secret. My cousin. Sir Harry, would 
be charmed to escort you. He's had glimpses of you in the 
meadows hereabouts. Indeed I've had much ado to keep 
him from making his admiration known, and so mortifying 
old Rigorous. 

Peggy, (sharply) If you mean my guardian, I pray you 
call him so. 

Joanna. Hoity toity ! I had thought you were a girl of 
spirit, who would like to see an Assembly for once in her 
life. 

Peggy, (enthusiastically) I should love it. 

Joanna, (sneeringly) Still one must not vex one's "dear 
Guardian. " 

Peggy. I'd not vex him for the world, (naively) And go 
I would not let him know. 

Joanna. Then I may tell Sir Harry ? 

Peggy. Nay, I'll not go with Sir Harry. Wait, ah ! Kit, 
dear old Kit shall take me. (Harts towards B, then halts) But 
I had forgotten. My frock, (looks at it) Alas, I cannot go. 



MICE AND MEN. 29 

Joanna. Silly child. Do you think I'd make the offer 
and not provide the means. What say you to my second 
best Buttercup Satin ? For myself I've a brand new gown, 
which Mr. Goodlake has not laid eyes upon. He'd rail at my 
extravagance. You shall have a mask also, and some orna- 
ments. I'll despatch them in a basket, (goes up, then stops) 
I was forgetting. I've a message for Captain Lovell. I'd 
best write it down, so you can deliver it. (she goes to table at 
back l.o. where there are writing materials. She sits, takes a 
pen and writes) 

Peggy, (quietly) Is it from his — his — lady love ? 

Joanna, (slyly looking back over her shoulder) May be it is. 
(writes) 

Peggy, (going to Joanna's r.) What is her name ! 

Joanna, (smiling) Nay, I never tell names. Nor do I 
use them when I write. 

Peggy. I scarce think I'd like to bo a letter carrier. 

Joanna. Nonsense. Tis naught but a few polite words. 
Fetch me some wafers, child, (imperatively) Fetch me some 
wafers. (Peggy goes off upper r. Joanna rises and reads her 
letter " She whose heart throbs at news of your return bids 
you be at Belsize Masquerade to-night." (Peggy re-enters and 
comes down. Joanna not perceiving her, sits and resumes her 
letter, reading as she writes) "Safe in the privacy of a crowd, 
an ardent welcome is assured you." (sees Peggy and ceases 
abruptly, folds her Utter) "Captain Lovell." (takes the wafer 
from Peggy and secures the letter) Mind you place it out of 
sight, and deliver it when he shall be alone (gives it and rises) 
I'll slip out through your chamber and across the yard, (goes 
r.) So shall I escape Mr. Goodlake, who is in his most 
devoted mood this morning, (kisses her hand) Good-bye, sweet, 
till to-night, (exit upper r.) Peggy goes to the press and climbs 
on a chair) 

Peggy, (reflectively) "Safe in the privacy of a crowd, an 
ardent welcome is assured you." I long to see what she is 
like, (she places the letter on the top shelf) 

Enter Mrs. D. lower b. 

Mrs. D. (seeing her) And what mischief is it now 1 

Peggy, (springing down) Naught to what is brewing. 
Listen, (drags her down) I am bound for the ball at Belsize 
to-night in a mask, and Mrs. Goodlake's second best Butter- 
cup Satin. Ha, ha ! Just think of it. 

Mrs. D. (aghast) You're bound for Bedlam, I'm thinking. 
What sort of madness is this ? 

Peggy, (capering about, excitedly) The sort that makes 
one want to peep at the gay sights. To laugh — to dance — 



80 MICE AND MEN. 

to dress In ft long train just once— and then to eome back 

home and be good for ever — ever after. 

Mrs. D. And think you I'll be a party to any such — 

Peggy, clapping her hands over Mrs. D.'s mouth) Without 
doubt, (forces her into chair, then kneels, keeping her mouth 
covered) First, you'll order Kit to take charge of me. Then, 
when Mr. Embury's gone to bed, and you've helped me to 
dress, you'll see me safe out by the side door, (removes her 
hands and springs ■?'#) You know you are fairly dying for a 
sight of me in Mrs. Goodlake's Buttercup Satin, 

Mrs. D. I protest you're crazy. 

Peggy, (pretending to cry) Ah ! Then it is yon fear that I 
shall look a fright. 

Mrs. D. (rising) A fright forsooth ! (proudly) Why, there's 
no such face and figure in all England, (relenting) And if I 
thought you'd— you'd — not be recognised. 

Peggy. (Hinging her arms about her and swinging her 
round) I won't be recognised, I promise you. I must needs 
dress up my hair. 

Mrs. D. (l. suddenly) The hair pad would help your dis- 
guise, (goes to the table for it) And put her Qoodlake lady- 
ship fairly out of countenance, (produces it) See, one pins it 
on, then the hair is powdered and stretched across. 

Peggy, (clasping her hands) Isn't it divine ? (puts pad on 
chair near press) I wonder shall I be able to dance the 
proper steps. Ah ! Kit shall show me. (she runs to lower 
door a. and shouts) Kit ! Kit ! Come here at once. 

Enter Kit. 

-Kit. Is the house a-fire ? 

Peggy. No, 'tis I who am a-fire, and I've a mind to burn 
myself out, so no cold water. 

Mrs. D. She is for going to the ball. 

Peggy, (to Kit) By Mrs. Deborah's orders, and you're to 
take me, but I must see I know how to move my feet to the 
latest tune. So do you play, (she fetches the fiddle and thrusts 
it in his hand*) Quick, quick, dear Kit. Just fancy you 
are my partner, and I am your — your— lady-love. 

Kit. Very well, Miss Peggy. Now, right over there, 
please. (sh* goes extreme L.) Right foot forward. Bend low. 

Et strikes a chord, then makes an elaborate bmv. Shi 
tmitates it, then he commences to play something to 
Gavofu time, not too slowly, dancing and calling 
wt directions. This dance occupies in all about 
32 bars of music. Peogy gets rapidly into the 
wjririt 0/ the dance, and Mrs. D. stands applauding* 



MICE AND MEN. 31 

At the height of the scene the door is pushed open, and 
Captain Lovell accompanied by Sir Harry Trimble- 
■tone stands on the threshold. Sir Harry is a dandy 
of about 35. Lovell looks a little older, but handsomer 
and more commandinq than m Act I. 

Sib H. (r.o., applauding) Bravo ! Bravo ! 

Peggy gives a loud exclamation, the music stops, and all 
turn in dismay. 

Mrs. D. {down l. apologetically) My cousin Kit has a 
taste for music, gentlemen, and is for diverting himself o,nd 
as once in a way. But I beg you'll not inform on us. 

Lovell. {coming down c.) We are dumb as oysters, Mrs. 
Deborah, {she curtseys, then crosses, and taking Kit's arm t 
they go off lower R. ) 

Lovell. {approaches Peggy deferentially) I ask your 
pardon for our intrusion. 

Peggy, (l. coldly) Oh, it does not matter, seeing yoa 
won't tell. 

Trimblestone has wandered down r. and is ogling Peggy. 

Lovell. Since my uncle is not here, we'll take our leave. 

Sir H. Hang it all, not till I've been introduced. 

Lovell. {giving him an angry glance) Permit me to present 
Sir Harry Trimblestone. My uncle's ward, Miss Britain. 

Sir H. 'Pon honour, I'm charmed. We're a pair of bung- 
lers to have cut short that pretty fandango. Let's have the 
old fellow out and start again, {crosses to c. towards Peggy) 
Spun me, if I don't join in the fling. 

Lovell. {swinging him back to r.) Harry, stop it ! {to 
Pe<;gy) The rocking of the coach has shifted the few brains 
my friend started with. 

Sir H. Coach be hanged 1 'Tis the glance from Beauty's 
•yes. 

Lovell. (c. sternly) Harry, stop it I 

Sir H. {nudging Lovell) Want to play the game alone, 
eh, Georgy? Better let us cut for it. Well, I'll give 
you the deal, but hark ye, play fair, and no cheating for 
the odd trick, {bowing to Peggy) Au re voir, Miss Britain. 
{she curtseys, Trimbelstone goes up to door) Oh, but you're a 
sly dog, Georgy, a sly dog. {exit) 

Lovell. Forgive me that I suffered that nincompoop to 
enter. That you would be the first to give me welcome, 
was a pleasure I'd not counted on. 

Peggy, {smiling) Faith, my memory must be very bad, fot 
I de not remember having welcomed you at all. 



82 MICE AND MEN. 

Lovell. Then 'tis not too late to repair the omission. 

(smiles) 

Peggy, (archly) True. And how, sir, would you prefer the 
ceremony should be conducted ? (makes a sweeping curtsey, 
and affects the tone of a fashionable lady) I protest, Captain 
Lovell, that the sight of you is monstrous pleasing. Or like 
this ? (takes the extended hand) Oh, I cannot say it if you 
look so serious. What is the matter ? Are you trying to 
recall my features ? I can't have changed so much. 

Lovell. (admiringly) No — and yet, 'tis wonderful, (turns) 

Peggy. I'm glad you think me improved, (goes to him) 
Tou do, don't you ? 

Lovell. Improved? Amazingly improved, (approaching 
her) 

Peggy, (backing to table) Do you still sing and play on the 
harpsichord ? 

Lovell. (nodding) When I find an inspiring listener. 

Peggy. Ah, you remind me, I've a letter for you. 'Twae 
left in my charge. Shall I fetch it ? 

Lovell. Nay, I warrant it'll keep, (crosses to r. ) 

Peggy, (following him) But I promised to give it to 
you. 

Lovell. (burning) I'd rather you gave me something else. 
One of those purple hyacinths, for instance, (points to her 
bodice) 

Peggy, (shaking her head) I've given half away already. 

Lovell. To a man ? 

Peggy, (seriously) To the best man in the whole world. 

Lovell. Did you keep the shamrocks ? 

Peggy, (as if trying to remember) Shamrocks 1 (carelessly) 
Oh, yours. Of what use is it to keep withered blossoms when 
one may gather fresh ? (takes advantage of his turn to dart to 
press and seize the green book. He turns abruptly, and she 
continues with embarrassment) You had better let me give you 
the letter. It might contain a message from — er— from your 
lady love, (she goes to the press and stands on a chair) 

Lovell. It might if she existed, but she does not exist. 

Peggy. That is untrue. Sister Joanna — aweet sister 
Joanna, has told me all about it. 

Lovell. (in alarm) Joanna has told you t 

Peggy. About your friend, your lady love. Yes. (she gets 
tht letter from the shelf) Take your letter, Captain Lovell. 
(jumps down from chair) 

Lovell. (taking it reluctantly) Why do you call me Captain 
Lovell ? 'Twas George two years ago. 

Peggy. Yes, but I've improved since then. "Amazingly 
Improved." (enter Peter at back. Me carries a large square 



MICE AND MEN. 33 

basket. He is about to cross to r.) What is it, Peter? (she 

lays the book down) 

Peter. A basket sent over from Mr. Goodlake's. 'Twill 
likely be the yellow turnips. 

Peggy. Leave it here, so I may attend to it. (Peter 
places basket down and goes out at back. Until he is off she 
stands with her finger on her lips, smiling mysteriously at 
Lovell, then she bounds towards the basket, kneels, undoes the 
fastenings, and peeps within, then springs to her feet, and 
claps her hands) It is ! It is ! It is ! 

Lovell. (in perplexity) Is what ? 

Peggy. You swear you'll not tell my guardian ? 

Lovell. (solemnly) I swear. 

Peggy. It is a prodigious secret, and very wicked. I am 
going to the Masquerade Ball to-night, and Mrs. Goodlake 
has lent me a gown. See ! (she opens the basket and pulls out 
a j/< How satin gown, a mask, and a jewel box, and a pair of 
eat in shoes) 

Lovell. You'll not go unattended ? 

Pkggy. To be sure not. (proudly) I have an escort. 

Lovell. (starting) An escort ! How dare the fellow pre- 
sume? 

Peggy. But 'twas no fault of Kit's. I insisted, and Mrs. 
Deborah would trust me with none other. 

Lovell. (slightly mollified) Oh, it's Kit, is it ? 'Tis likely 
he'd not object if I played deputy. 

Peggy. What *? Are you then going to the ball ? 

Lovell. If you are. 

Peggy, (coldly) You forget. Your lady love might object, 
I'll go with Kit, I thank you. And meanwhile I'll leave you 
alone to read your letter, (she gathers up all the finery in her 
arms, then after curtseying, she goes off upper r. ; she returns 
immediately and seizes the green book which she had forgotten. 
She places it on the bundle in her arms and again goes off; 
Lovell glances carelessly at the letter in his hand, then he 
opens it. He is standing now by the empty basket) 

Lovell. Nay, I'll not read it, but send it whence it cam©. 
(crushes the letter, tosses it into the basket and shuts the lid, 
then kieks basket over to r.) That shall be my answer. 

Enter Embury at back. 

Embury, (warmly) Ah, nephew, welcome, welcome. 

Lovell. (r., going forward) Your humble servant, sir, 
{starts on looking at Embury) I swear I'm under a spell, o* 
the pendulum has been swinging backward. Everyone I 
meet seems to have been touched by a magic wand. 



84 MICE AND MEN; 

Embury, {innocently) Strange, yet I fancy I've remarked 
it myself. Tis probably the salubrity of the climate — or the 
water. Our water is uncommon pure. We face the north, 
but that is corrected in my new abode. 

Lovell. So you're shifting quarters, sir. 

Embury, {goes to chair r. of table nervously) Yea, the truth 
Is, I'm contemplating a change in my mode of life. 

Lovell. Indeed? 

Embury. 'Tis a man's duty to marry, George ; he owe§ 
that much to — to — 

Lovell. To his offspring. True, sir, I take yours to be * 
tudden resolution. 

Embury. On the contrary, when two years ago, I secured 
the services of the worthy Mrs. Deborah, it was but the firefe 
move in a well considered plan. 

Lovell. So the lady is already an inmate of your house 1 
(Embury nods) Is she aware of \our intentions ! 

Embdry. Not yet. Though I venture to hope she will nob 
be averse to them. 

Lovell. I give you joy, uncle. And from the little I've 
seen of your future wife, I take the liberty of pronouncing 
it a most sensible choice. 

Embury. There is some disparity in the matter of years. 

Lovell. (cherrily) She'll be the better qualified to do her 
part. 

Embury, (placing a hand on Lovell's shoulder) And now 
we must to your affairs. This new venture will not disturb 
our compact. You were to receive a settlement on your 
return. If — if — Tell me, George, can you with a clear con- 
science, claim the reward ? 

Lovki l. (earnedhj) I can, sir. (they clasp hands) 

Embury. Come, we'll to the stucty. I'd have the benefit 
of your judgment in the matter of wall papers, (takes hit 
arm and goes up c.) 

Lovell. (smiling) Wall papers ! Had you not best con- 
ault the lady who is destined to gaze on them, sir ? 

Kmbury. No. I'd take her by surprise when all is finished. 
Tis hard to choose a flower or colour for one who loves them 
all. 

Lovell. Yet she'll surely have a preference. Think. 

Embury. To be sure. It is the purple hyacinth, (he 
unconsciously touches those in his coat) 

Lovell. (starting) The purple hyacinth ! 

Embury. Yes. She wears them in her bodice. (Lovell 
averts his head, overcome by his discovery) Come, let us search 
the patterns. (Lovell remains stupefied ; Embury open* 
tke door) What is it, lad ? 



MICE AND MEN. 35 

Lotill. Nothing, sir, except I have a fancy to take a turn 
alone in the garden. 

Embury. Alone? (laughs) Faith, 'tis as if we changed 
places. Mark Embury, the nighty youth, with stern George 
Lovell for his uncle. (Qoes out. Lovell gives a glance at the 
door r. then with a heavy sigh, strides to back and exits) 

(Peggy now peeps from the door upper R. (hen enters ; she 
has put on the satin gown ; it is too large, and she 
excitedly tries to adjust it to her figure. She cart 
mask and jewel box , after placing them on table, she 
/etches the looking-glass from press, and hair poo feo~n 
chair, returns to the table, places the looking-glass a 
the small Jlour barrel, which is still on table. She then 
kneels, pins the hair pad on, and stretches her curls 
across it) 

Peggy, (surveying herself) 'Tis elegant, but where can I 
procure the powder ? (she sighs, rises, and catches sight of the 
Jlour barrel ; she dips her hands in and gets some flour, with 
which she daubs her hair ; Next she tries the mask, then removes 
it) Now for the ornaments, (opens the jewel box) I warrant 
she will have jewels — his lady love. I would I could outshine 
her. (takes out a pair of earrings) Earrings ! How beautiful J 
If only I could wear them. I wonder if it is so hard to make 
holes in one's ears, (she runs to Mrs. Deborah's workbasket^ 
whicli is in press ; she finds a long needle, then returns to the 
mirror, where after one or two feints she plunges the needle 
into her ear, and immediately gives vent to a loud shriek. 

(Enter Lovell quickly at back. She turns and faces him 
defiantly.) 

Lovell. I thought I heard a cry. 

Peggy. Yes. I met with an accident. I stuck a needle 
In my ear. 

Lovell. Go and remove that gown, I beg of you. 

Peggy, (petulantly) 'Tis necessary I should try it on, if 11 
is to tit. (archly) Think you it becomes me ? {crosses to b 
trailing and surveying her train) 

Lovell. (l.) Uncommonly well, jet you (matt not go fee 
the Masquerade in it. 

Peggy, (r.) In what then 1 

Lovell. In nothing, (quickly) I mean you must not ge 
at all. 

Peggy, (coqnettishly) Unless I go with you. Is that it t 

Lovell. I— I — cannot. I dare not take you now. 

Peggy, (astonished) Indeed ( Vet 'twas only a short tiin* 



86 MICE AND MEN. 

since you seemed so anxious. Perhaps it Is that youVe had 
news since then. 

Lovell. Yes. I have had — news — since then. 

Peggy. What news ? 

Lovell. 'Tis not for me to tell you. 

Peggy. Yet it is on this account you dissuade me from 
the ball, (he gravely nods) Then maybe I fathom it. It is 
that she is for going, and would claim your whole attention. 
Was that the message in the letter ? 

Lovell. (perplexed) The letter? (suddenly remembering) 
Oh, I know not what was in the letter. I did not 
read it. 

Peggy, (quietly) Then you are not going to marry 
her? 

Lovell. Her? 

Peggy. The lady Mrs. Goodlake did refer to. 

Lovbll. (smiling) No. There is a most decided obstacle. 
(aside) Thank God ! 

Peggy. But you will marry somebody — some day ? 

Lovell. Oh yes. If Fate decrees it. But I warrant you 
it will be no love match, now. 

Peggy. What for will you marry then? 

Lovbll. (recMessly) Who knows? For money — position- 
to please my uncle, may be. (laughs bitterly) Yes, that's it, 
It shall be for money, Peggy — for money, and my uncle may 
choose the bride. 

Peggy. In the meantime I see no reason you should 
forego the ball. 

Lovell. I must forego it, and so must you. 

Peggy, (hotly) And if I refuse ? 

Lovell. Then I must try and forget that you have made 
me your secret confidant. 

Peggy. You will tell my guardian ? 

Lovell. You know that I will never do so. 

Peggy, (lightly) Then I shall go. 

Lovell. Then I must go with you to see you come to no 
mischief. 

Peggy. What ! You'd make a duty of it. Nay, I'm not 
Inclined to have your sacrifice, (laughs, half hysterically) I 
warrant you. I'll not go begging for a partner, (storming) 
How dare you think I ever meant to let you take me I 
(playfully) You must have a fine conceit of yourself. (Begin* 
to cry) You may go— or stay as you please, but I vow I'll not 
speak to you the whole night, and so you may be free to 
enjoy your "ardent welcome." Oh, I wager she'll be there, 
and so shall I, mark you. (stamps her foot, still crying) So 
shall I. 



MICE AND MEN. 37 

(The back door opens, and Embury enterw. Pboot has her 

back turned, but hearing the door open, she quickly goes 
off upper r. ; and as Embury comes down he is in time 
to catch a full view of 'he yellow silk train, as it escapes 
through the door. His brow contracts, and he looks at 
Lovell as if for an explanation. There la a pause. 
Embury carries in his hand small rolls of wall paper) 

Embury. I thought you went to walk in the garden. 

Lovell. I returned. 

Embury, (with a motion towards the door r.) You dismiss 
your visitors rather unceremoniously. 

Lovell. (quietly) T have had no visitors, sir. 

Embury. When neighbours come to wait upon my house- 
hold — or myself, they are not ashamed to go out by the 
chief door. 

Lovell. I did not say there'd been a neighbour here. 

Embury. Neither my ward nor my housekeeper are wont 
to drag a couple of yards of silken train behind them. 
(angrily) I protest, sir, against having my house used fot 
candlestine meetings. 

Lovell. And I deny having used it for such a purpose. 

Embury. Then the lady who had so evident a wish to 
remain undiscovered, was — 

Lovell. I cannot tell you, uncle. 

Embury. Your answer is sufficient. That this intimacy 
remains unbroken is vile enough, (raises his voice) But that 
you should have given me the lie just now — should have 
sought to trick and cheat me, that I might replenish your 
resources, is — 

Lovell. (emphatically) Hold, sir I 

Enter Goodlake at back. 

Good. HhIIo ! Who is it that's training his lungs for the 
post of town crier? Gad, is it you, Lovell? Then I've 
missed the coach and Harry too. (to Embury) Has Joanna 
been here? 

Embury, (hesitating) I have but this moment left my 
atudy, but Captain Lovell may be able to tell you. 

Lovell. I have not seen her. 

(Embury stares at him with contempt. Enter Mrs. 
Deborah lower r. with table cloth % which she places im 
press) 

Good. Have you seen aught of my wife, Mrs. Deborah t 
Mrs D. Aye, she was here a short while since. She left 
by the side door and went across the yard (exit R.) 



88 MICE AND MEN. 

Good. Got tired of waiting for me, I'll be sworn. Com* 
back home with me, Lovell, and break the back of her spleen. 

Embury. 'Tis impossible. Captain Lovell is suddenly 
recalled to town. He leaves here on the moment. 

Good, (in surprise) Eh, what's that ? 

Lovell. (proudly) It is as my uncle has said. I leave this 
house on the moment. I bid you good day, Mr. Goodlake. 
(turns to Embury) And you, Sir, good-bye. (goes out abruptly ; 
Goodlake raises his eyebrows and whistles) 

Good. What's up, man ? Has he been poaching on your 
preserves ? Strike me, if I haven't expected it all along. 
(Embury gives him a silencing look, and he quickly changes the 
subject) Well, did you get the turnips ? (turns and sees basket) 
Yes, and damme, if they haven't sent 'em in my best 
travelling hamper, (crosses to r.) Here, help me unload. 
{pulls basket towards him and slightly raises the lid) Why, 'tif 
unloaded already. Then I'll bear it baok. 

Embury. Let Peter carry it. 

Good. Nay, if a man would have no tricks played on his 
property, he'd best keep his eye on't. As for you, Mark 
Embury, you take my advice. Marry the baggage, and so put 
her out of harm's way. (goes up to door) Remember the lines 
of our new Scotch poet — "The best laid schemes of Mice 
and Men gang aft agley." (exit. Embury closes door after 
Goodlake, then goes down thoughtfully to table y and unrolls 
his patterns of wall paper) 

Embury. Poor Roger ! (enter Peggy r. She has resumed 
her ordinary attire) Ah, Peggy ! I am glad you are come in. 
(looks at her tenderly) Do you know why ? (unrolls paper and 
places it on the table) 

Peggy. It is because you are alone. Of late you have not 
cared so much to be alone. 

Embury. You've noticed that, have you? 'Tis strange 
how a man may change, Peggy. Aye, even a Philosopher. 

Peggy. Are you a Philosopher, guardian ? 

Embury. I've held myself to be such, (timidly) But there 
are times when I am crossed by — by doubt. 

Peggy, (reflectively) I've noticed the doubts too. . 

Embury, (smiling) You have grown to be a minute ob- 
server. 

Peggy. One always does those one loves. 

Embury, (rising) And you love me ? (eagerly) 

Peggy. Indeed I do. 

Embury, (fervently) God bless you, pretty one. (places Ms 
haiid on her head) 

Peggy, (beginning to cry) Oh, please don't. 

Embury, (startltd) Why not! Why not, Peggy J 



MICE AND MEN. 69 

Peggy, (crying) I don't deserve it. I am so— so mon- 
strous wicked. 

Embury, (relieved) Dear, dear, dear. Is that all? So you 
are monstrous wicked, are you ? (smiles and places a chair, 
which he takes from writing-table at back) Perhaps your 
morals will grow stronger, if they're allowed to sit. (she sits) 

Peggy, (suddenly) I promise you I shall be quite good to- 
morrow, and ever — ever afterwards. 

Embury, (in mock seriousness) Then I don't know but what 
Satan is entitled to to-day. (he takes chair from large tabU 
and sits near Peggy) You remember that a while ago I spoke 
of something I had to tell you. 

Peggy. I fancy I have since divined it. You planned to 
surprise me, did you not ? 

Embury. If you are not surprised, then will my task be 
easier. Have you ever dreamed, child ? (she nods) So have 
I. Some time ago I dreamed an all absorbing dream. It 
Involved the training of a girl to my idea of perfect woman- 
hood. In working out my plan I may have strayed somewhat 
from the letter of my intention, but the spirit I preserved. 
(touches her hand carelessly) Yes, the spirit is preserved, for 
the maid is all — all — (with a little sigh) well, all I wish her. 
Still my design is incomplete, till the maid becomes a wife. 
(softly) So you see it rests with her to waken me, or bid me 
dream on — happily on. for ever, (rises) I had not intended 
to tell you my dream story so soon, but it has been pointed 
out to me that the time has come when you should have a 
more absolute protection than that of a mere guardian, (goet 
down l. c.) 

Peggy, (thoughtfully) And is that why you sent for him 
to come here ? 

Embury, (turning) Sent for whom ? 

Peggy, (in a low voice) Captain George. 

Embury. Not precisely. Though 'tis true that, believing 
him worthy, I just now confided something of my plans to 
him. 

Peggy, (starting up) You told him what you sad in mind I 
(Embury nods— she droops her head) And the n«ws shocked 
^disappointed him, did it not ? 

Embury. On the contrary, he seemed well pleased. 

Peggy, (looking up) You mean that he agreed ? (her eye* 
flash) Ah ! You offered him money — money ! 

Embury. I promised him a settlement. 

Peggy. And for that he pretended he was willing — (asidt) 
to marry me. 

Embury. I scarce see the importance of his opinion on 
the subject. The present and vital question is your willing- 



40 MICE AND MEN. 

ness. The delicacy of my position renders it Impossible I 
should plead with, or urge you, for a sense of gratitude 
might impel you to that which would render you miserable. 
And so, pretty one, if you say yes, your heart must echo 
your tongue, else you will make me wretched also. Look 
at me, child. See how I hang on your reply. 

Peggy, (bewildered) Am I then to give it to you t 

Embury. Surely. To whom else ? 

Peggy (shaking her head) Then it is — is — No I (his fact 
falls) I'll form no part of his plan to get money. Tell him 
that I do not love him. (Embury looks startled) Nay, that I 
hate him — hate him. (bursts into tears, then turns on a 
sudden impulse) But don't— don't — let him believe it. Oh, 
you understand, (throws herself in a Jit of hysterical weeping 
into Embury's arms) 

Embury. Yes. I— I — understand, (to himself) " The 
best laid schemes of Mice and Men." (he stands calmly 
gazing into space, and stroking her hair gently, as the curtaim 
fall*) 

£nd of 2jj v Aot. 



MICE AND MEN. 41 



ACT III. 

Scene. — Ths Masquerade Ball at Belsixe Routt. The ante* 
room, with a view of the gardens lighted by coloured lanterns 
at back; door leading to cardroom at upper l. ; urid* <loor 
or arch leading to ballroom at upper R. ; chair down L. f 
(mother near arch. 

As curtain rises a noise of money being thrown and 
laughter from cardroom and exclamations " Try 
again," " No, no ! " " I'll bet a guinea" etc. ; instru~ 
ments are being tuned in the ballroom, and at bock 
there is a group of gaily dressed girls and rakish-looking 
men; some have fancy costumes, some wear masks ; 
they are loudly laughing and exchanging greetings ; 
presently one girl breaks away, then enters and goes 
towards ballroom, saying : " Oh, very well, then I'll 
dance by myself" ; one of the men runs after her; then 
a girl with two men follow. They all go off r.. The 
others remain at back c. Sir Harry Trimblestone, 
accompanied by a fair and a dark girl, enters c, pushing 
his way through the group ; then the group disperses — 
all except two — one man and one woman ; these follow 
Sir Harry on and stand near sofa, talking to two 
others who rise. 

Sir H. (dropping the girls' arms) Nay, my charmers, I 
never take more than one partner at a time. I'll to the 
cardroom and cut, to see which of you, diamonds or spades, 
has first choice of me. 

Group at sofa laugh and chat ; Sib Harry exit* 
upper L. and i» greeted with shouts from within: 
"Hal Here's Harry/ He'll change the luck.'* 
"Throw him out." "No, no," etc. The two girl$ 
glance disdainfully after Sir Harry ; one says " Ths 
idea— but who cares?" the other says "Not I." An 
old Beau now enters at back ; he approaches them and 

says, "Ladies, can you tell me ;" they seize him, 

one on each side, one says " Yes, we'll tell you," the 
other ' ' Better, we'll show you ; " they run him off to 
ballroom ; group follows and stands in entrance. Enter < it 
back Kit Barniger with his fiddle; he is accompanied 
by Peggy in the yellow satin gown and powdered hairi 
she carries her mask. 



42 MICE AND MBit. 

Kit. (going down b.) Come along, Miss Peggy. 

Peggy, (l., excitedly) Oh, 'tis the divinest place under 
heaven, Kit. Though I had not thought there were quite so 
many people in the world. You must find me a partner. 

Kit. (perplexed) A partner ? 

Pbggy. To be sure, and right quickly. And hark ye : 
he must engage to pay me most marked attention ; so go and 
procure me a pleasing young man, no — old man — no, young 
man— (turns) which, think you, is the more dependable 
when it comes to making spurious love ? (music starts a 
gavotte) 

Kit. (thoughtfully) I protest — I think they are equally 
proficient there, (group exits to ballroom) 

Peggy, (going to back and looking off B.) Look at the 
millions of lights. And hear the music. Oh, Kit, it is 
more diverting even than church, (he moves down b., sht 
follows closely) You are not going yet 1 (he halts) It isn't that 
I'm frightened, (tremblingly) But I— I — like not to be left 
alone the draws him down o.) 

Two more enter from back and exit to ballroom. 

Kit. No, no, but the dance is on, and I am much belated. 
(he begins mechanically to move to the music) Oh, dearie me 1 
Wait ! I'll find you a seat near the musicians, where yon 
may sit and watch. 

Peggy, (tossing her head) Faith ! I'm not come to ball to 
sit in a corner and watch ; so hurry and capture me a partner, 

Enter Sib Harry Trimblestonb from cardroom. 

Sir. BL (a, overhearing) Spun me, but that were an easy 
task . (starts) As I live, 'tis the little Britain 1 (bows and 
comes between them) 

Peggy, (suddenly) Why, you'll do splendidly. 

Sir H. Do? I'll wager I'm done for already. Shall I 
have the honour of the next gavotte, most lovely Peggy ? 

Peggy. In truth you shall, (crosses to a.) You may go, Kit, 
Sir Harry will take care of me till you return, (aside to Kit) 
If I rake fright at him, I'll scream out. (exit Kit, b. ; turns) 
You are surprised to see me here ? 

Sir H. (l.) A meeting with Hebe herself had not more 
staggered me. 

Peggy, (r. , shaking her head) I am not acquainted with 
Hebe, but your cousin, Mistress Goodlake, is she not here I 

Sir H. Joanna ! Lord, I wager not. 

Pbggy. You speak as if 'twere not a proper place. Why t 
then are you here yourself 9 



MICE AND MEN. 43 

Sir H. There's a difference, my pretty one. Hang me, 
if I don't believe you stole away on the chance of meeting 

Ul Peggy, (laughing and backing) Think you that? Then 
you are even a sillier man than I first conceived you. I 
believe I came beoause one who had no right to my 
obedience ventured to forbid it. 

Sir H. Was it Mr. Embury ? 

Peggy (loftily) No. Had he forbidden me, I should no* 
have come. And that is why I took care he should know 
nothing about it. (two girls and a man cross at back from r. 
to l pausing an instant at the opening ; Lovell appears aw 
the back, he stands looking among the promenaders ; Peggy 
turus and sees him, she then turns to Sir Harry and .runs on 
in a loud voice) You flatter me, Sir Harry, (he looks astonished) 
Though your remarks are vastly pleasing. 

Lovell, attracted by her voice, comes down ; the musie if 
heard faintly. 

Lovell. (l.) Ah, Harry, so tis you, eh ! 

Sir H (c ) It is, and curse you for a meddler. # 

Lovell. It seems I've just come in time -in time to 
relieve you. Miss Britain will be my charge for the rest of 
the evening, (crosses tc c.) 

Sir H. (l.) You ride a high horse, sir. 

Lovell. (significantly) I ride nothing I'm not master of 

SirH. (smiting) Except your temper, eh-Georgy? Ill 
return anon-and claim from Miss Britain the fulfilment of 
her promise- (6o<u*)-till our gavotte, (exit to cardroom ; 
there is an embarrassed pause, then Lovell turn* to Peggy 
very authoritatively) 

Lovell. (l.) You will put on your mask. 

Peggy (r.) I will, when it so pleases me. (he turns away 
an "lly to chair) I thought you had gone to London. 

Lovell. Pardon me, but you knew to the contrary. Your 
obstinate determination to come here 

Peggy. Compels you to postpone your departure. (h% 
bows) You are quite sure you are come here to look at me < 

Lovell. (brusquely) Not to look at you, but to look after 

y °PEGGY. (sarcastically) I'm profoundly grateful, but as I 
do not need your protection, you are excused-you are 
excused, (she waves him away, he remains perfectly still, she 
moves toivards ballroom, he follows her ; she halts abruptly) 
Where would you go ? 

Lovell. (folding his arms) Where you go. 



44 MICE AND MEN* 

Peggy, (petulantly) Then I go nowhere. I shall stay her*. 
(crosses to r. ; he bows) Perhaps you'd not object should I sit 
down ? (he crosses behind her, takes the chair and places it with 
a j rk at her back ; then he fetches the chair r. for himself ; they 
sit ; there is a pause ; business) What did yon say r i 

Lovell. (b.) I said nothing. 

Peggy, (l.) Tis a good plan when one knows not how to 
talk divertingly. (pause) It is an uncommon fine evening. 

1 .ovell. Is that my first lesson in the art of conversation t 

Peggy, (after another pause) Why did you leave our house 
so abruptly today? 

Lovell. My uncle gave me no invitation to remain. 

Peggy. But there was a dispute, was there not ? 

Lovell. He told you so much, eh ? 

Peggy. No ; he did not mention you. (pauses and blushes) 
Save once. And then, he wandered from the bouse ; nor 
have I seen him since. 

Lovell. Then how 

Peggy. Before you left I heard angry voices, and the 
words " trick " and " cheat " reached my ears. 

Lovell. Do you know in what manner I cheated him I 

Peggy. No ; but I fancy it was about a woman. 

Lovell. Yes ; it was about a woman. 

Pegoy. ( pauses) The woman you are in love with ? 

Lovell. Yes ; the quarrel was concerning the woman I 
am in love with. 

Peggy. Is she here to-night ? 

Lovell. Yes. 

Peggy. Why don't you seek her 1 

Lovell. I have sought her already. 

Peggy. And cannot find her. (rises) That is why yoa came 
to me. I pray you go and send Sir Harry Trimblestone 
back to me. 

Lovell. (rising) I'll do nothing of the kind. Harry is no 
fit companion for you. (swings his chair back to Us original 
position) 

Peggy, (laughing) On that I don't agree. I think him 
most bewitching. 

Lovell. (angrily) Such an avowal should shame a girl who 
Is all but betrothed. 

Peggy, (raising her eyebrows) All but betrothed I 

Lovell. You must be aware that my uncle — your guardian 
—has formed certain plans. That he has hopes oi 

Peggy. Oh yes, but I scarce favour the notion of having a 
husband chosen for me. (crosses to r.) 

Lovell. (l. with a glance of hopeful expectation) You mean 
jou will decline 



MICE AND MEN. 61 

•gain. How dare you be so weak and silly t As if he could 
stay idling here and spoil all his future chances, (sobs) In my 
regret there is some excuse, for to me he is a relative, or 
he will be to-morrow, and it is quite proper to grieve about 
a relative. 

E:»i3URY. (heard outside) Yes, yes, trim the hedge down. 

Mrs. D. (listening) 'Sh ! 

Enter Embury from ft. 

Embury, (coming down) And I was not here to greet you 
after all. Let me make amends, (extends hishands) Welcome, 
child, welcome to your new home, (she timidly places her 
harids in his) 

Mrs. D. Everything is in readiness, sir Would you like 
that I should show Miss Peggy through the house before 
I go? 

Embury. No, I thank you. 

Mrs D. Then I'd best deliver up the keys, (produces from 
her basket a bunch of keys hung on a white ribbon) I've taken 
the liberty to string them on a white ribbon, and now I'll be 
getting back. There's much to do. (curtseys and go??* off r. ) 

Peggy. Am 1 not then to go through the —thro i^h our 
house to-day ? 

Embury, (nervously) Yes, yes, child. But I have a fancy 
for you to see it first, accompanied by no one but — but your 
future husband. 

Peggy. Then shall we go now t 

Embury, (absent-mindedly) Nay, not now. (looks up) Thore 
is plenty of time, dear one. (cheerilj) And you haven't seen 
half the garden yet. I hope you like it Peggy. 

Peggy. Indeed, I like it very much, guardian, (he looks at 
her with a quiet sadness) I ask your pardon I remern I 

you desired me to call you by your first name, and try as I 
may, I have not yet been able to accomplish it. But I will 
try again ; believe me, I will. 

Embury. Nay, child, I do not wish you to do anything 
that costs an effort. And I am not sure but the word 
"guardian " has a gentle and more appropriate sound. 

Peggy, (at extreme R. of bench) 'Tis difficult to break 
one's habit, is it not ? 

Embury. Most difficult, and many things that seem easy 
at the start grow perplexing as one advances. Do you 
remember last night I spoke of a little talk we were to have f 
(she nods ; he sits beside her on bench) By sleeping on the 
subject, I thought to tackle it more readily, but I couid not 
sleep. And at sunrise I arose and went out in the meadows, 
and what, think you, was the subject of my meditation I 



62 MICE AND MEN. 

Come here, child, (she sits nearer to him) Peggy, I have 
been wondering if, in planning out your future, I have done 
always what was right. I mean for you. Bight for your 
happiness. 

Peggy. You have always acted for my happiness, dear 
guardian. 

Embury, (shaking his head) That is what I have told my- 
self, (smiles sadly) But I've lately been troubled with doubis 
as to my own veracity. 

Peggy. But all that has been pleasant in my life I owe to 
you. 

Embory. (taking her hand) Nay, dear heart, you owe me 
nothing. The happiness you have already bestowed on me 
is a dower that will last me all my life. (Peggy cries a little) 
And remember this— always remember this. No relation 
that you might bear to me could enhance the tenderness in 
which I already hold you. (rises) And now we'll say no more 
about these things, except that what must, will be, and 
That is, is right. 

Peggy. Then what you have planned for me, that must 
\>e right also. Do you fear that as a wife I shall disappoint 
you ? (rises) 

Embury. No. As a wife you will not disappoint me. 
And what I have planned is right, quite right, (changes his 
tone) But tell me of your new gown and bonnets— and fur- 
belows. Have they all been fashioned to your liking ? (sits 
tsqain) 

Peggy. Yes, and to yours, I hope. 

Embury. I warrant Mrs. Deborah has not forgot the rice 
tnd the old shoes. Such sacred functions will, scarce brook 
Aeglect. 

Peggy. She fears only an insufficient audience. 

Embury. 'Tis true our supply of guests is dwindling 
down, (pauses) Do you know that George Lovell propose* 
*jo leave us t 

Peggy, (quietly) Yes. 

Embury. And that he proposes to go at once — to-day t 

Peggy. Yes. 

Embury. It is my wish that he should stay. 

Peggy. Stay for— for our wedding. 

Embury. Yes. For our — stay for the wedding. 

Peggy. Have you asked him to remain ? 

Embury. No— I want you to ask him. 

Peggy. I ? (she is much confused). 

Embury. Have you the courage to persuade Mm for hit 
,*ood, when the advice may cause you a little temporary 
painl 



MICE AND MEN. 63 

Peggt. (quietly) Yes. 

Embury. Then you shall ask him to give up his roving 

design. I would have him settle down at home, (pauses) I 
would have him — marry. 

Peggy, (quickly, off her guard) Marry ! (half rises) 

Embury, (gently preventing her) I have told you it is for his 
own good. Will you do it ? 

P>ggy. Think you my words arill carry so much 
weight ? 

Embury. If you speak them with conviction, (takes a 
letter from his pocket. You may give him this. It will con- 
firm what you may say. (*m**J Uo'ii Kkdj be nere anon. 
In tho meantime we'll explore the garden 'Tis a raro old 
garden, (leads her to R.) But I am forgetting your keys, (he 
hangs ribbon on her arm) You'll need them by-and-bye. 
They will open all the doors, and I promise you there is not 
a blue chamber in all the castle. Come, pretty one, let us 
to the garden, (he takes her hand and they go off r. ; presently 
Lovbll enters duwn the centre path ; he looks about the 
garden ; Peter enters from the upper side of the house) 

Lovell. So that is the new house, eh? Is my uncle 
within 1 

Peter, (coming down a little) No, Captain, he'll be some- 
where about the grounds, though. 

Lovell. I think his message bade me wait in the 
garden. 

Peter. Yes, Captain. In the garden, near the arbour. 
This is the garden, (points) that be the arbour, and there be 
you. 

Lovell. If you see my uncle, say that I am come. 

Peter. Yes, Captain, (goes off upper b.) 

Lovell walks impatiently to and fro ; presently he espies the 
black wrap, he looks at it, then about the garden eagerly ; 
then he sees the green book on bench, he takes it up, turns 
the leaves and finds the withered shamrocks, he gives a 
look of pleased surprise, he half turns so that his back is 
towards r. Enter Peggy ; she still has the keys on her 
arm, she gets nearly to the middle of the stage before she 
sees Lovell, then she stops timidly, and turns as if to go 
back ; he turns and closes the book. 

Lovell. I did not know that you — that I should meet yon 
here. 

Peggy, (with embarrassment) No, I— I went to see the 
garden, but I remembered that I had left my book, and 
hurried l>ack. (holds o*,tt her hand) I want my book. 



04 MICE AND MEN. 

Lovell. {indicating the book he holds) This 1 

Peggy. Yes. 

Lovell. {with a slight frown and a constraint in hi* voice) 
You did keep the shamrocks. 

Peggy. Yes, but I am not going to keep them after to day. 

Lovell. Then I may have them back ? 

Peggy. No. It was my intention to bury them, but in all 
the way along I found no likely spot, {extends her hand again 
for the book) 

Lovell. {giving it, bitterly) Such weeds sometimes have a 
knack of taking root, and springing up afresh. 

Peggy, sxoi wn^« tko r «r« a uite dead, {opens book) See, 
there's severed leaves and broken stems. 

Lovell. {moving slightly away) I've a notion my unci© 
must have sent for me to admire the outside of his dwelling, 
since he did not ask me in. Perhaps you will repair his 
omission. 

Peggy, {shaking her head) 1 mustn't. I do not like to. 
I've not been in myself as yet. Mr. Embury has a fancy 
regarding my first inspection, {looks back) And he's not here. 
But I know why he sent for you. (timidly) He wishes you to 
change your mind about leaving England. 

Lovell. He's intimated as much already, and already 
I've declined. 

Peggy. But he thought were I to ask you- 

Lovell. Aak me what ? 

Peggy, {nervously) To stay at home — to settle down some- 
where near — near — here. 

Lovell. {frowning) And you — you would propose that \ 
{advances to her) 

Peggy. He assured me 'twould be for your good, and he 
always speaks the truth. 

Lovell. My good, forsooth, (goes up o. and laughs harshly) 
It seems Mr. Embury has a passion for shaping other 
people's destinies. Is there any more to his message ! (turns) 

Peggy. Yes. (tremulously and lowering her eyes) He would 
have you — have you marry, (sits on bench) 

Lovell. (startled) Upon my life ! (stands off and looks at 
her) And I once thought you had a heart. 

Peggy, (half crying) Ca^'t you see it is my task - doing 
what I've promised ? 

Lovell. And so you would have me marry ? (she nod* 
iloidy) You urge me to it from a sense of duty. Ha — ha— ha I 
Tis a droll spectacle. You, my mentor and adviser. 

Peggy, (spiritedly) Indeed, I see nothing odd in that* 
You forget I am your aunt — or I shall bo by to-morrow. 
(rifts) 



MICE AND MEN. 65 

Lovell. (backs to l.o., sarcastically) Ten thousand par- 
dons. I had forgotten the respect due to your venerable 
position. 

Peggy. Tis not kind in you to ridicule me. 

Lovell. (angrily) And pray, have you shown any regard 
for my sensibilities ? But continue, I beg. Your errand 
isn't finished. 

Peggy. I've nothing more to say. 

Lovell. And am I not to learn the description or 
name of the lady my uncle has bo generously provided 
for me. 

Peggy. He did not tell me. But he gave me a letter. 
You may learn in that, (produces Embury's letter from her 
pocket) 

Lovell. (waving it aside) Read it, I pray you. (she shake* 
her head ; he takes it, breaks the seal, spreads it open, then 
hands it back) As my aunt it is one of your duties, (she take$ 
it, glances timidly at the page, reads the first few lines, then 
suddenly gives a little hysterical scream, drops the letter, looks 
round wildly, then runs off upper r ; Lovell turns in aston- 
ishment, then picks up letter ; reading) "The affection that 
my dear girl entertains for you has long been known to me, 
but it is only of late since 1 have watched you in her com- 
pany, that I have known this attachment was mutual, in 
the endeavour to secure my own happiness, I have tried to 
put my discovery behind me, but I can no longer cheat my- 
self — nor you. Take with my dear one the little home she 
brings you, and if you are half as happy dwelling in it as I 
have been in planning it, then my life's experiment can not 
be counted a failure. Let no thought of me cloud your 
happiness. I am neither a martvr nor a hero. Bachelor- 
hood has many charms to one of my temperament, and old 
habits are hard to break." (Lovell looks dazed, then turns 
excitedly) Where is sho 1 (he goes up to r., hurries off and 
returns immediately, leading Peggy ; she has been crying) 
You should not run away from me, because you are mine 
now — all mine. He has given you to me— to keep for ever. 
He means it. You must read it all by-and-bye, and then 
you'll say with me, God bless him ! Come, look me in the 
eyes, and say you love me. Remember, 'tis for my good. 
Peggy, (lookinq up timidly) Need I say it 1 Saying is so 

hard, but (she pauses, and then gently puts her arm round 

his neck ; he bends to kiss her ; she draws back timidly) Would 
you like me to show you the house ? 
Lovell. May you ? 

Peggy, Yes, I may now. See, here are the keys. I'm 
told the furniture ia beautiful, and there's a (with a 



66 MICE AND MEN. 

pleased smile and lowered voice) There is a harpsichord. (Ks 
takes her hand, and together they enter the house) 

Enter Embury from r. ; he walks slowly, uith hand* 
linked behind him ; as he reaches the house the harpsi- 
chord is heard playing the old melody, " My love is like 
a red, red rose ; he halts a moment and then listens, 
while the two voices take up the refrain and finish the 
verse to the harpsichord accompaniment ; then he pro- 
ceeds on his way, and goes sloviy up the centre path ; 
when he comes to the little wicket gate, he passes It and 
closes it behind him, turns and facing the audience, h$ 
fastens the latch, gives one more glance at the cottage, 
then continues along the path, and out of sight ; tht 
tinging is still heard within as the curtain falls* 



Shd of Play. 



ARE YOU A MASON? 

Farce in 3 acts. By Leo Ditrichstein. 7 males, 
males. Modern costumes. Plays 2*4 hours. 1 interior. 

"Are You a Mason?" is one of those delightful farces like 
"Charley's Aunt" that are always fresh. "A mother and a 
daughter," says the critic of the New York Harald, "had hus 
bands who account for absences from the joint household on 
frequent evenings, falsely pretending to be Masons. The men 
do not know each other's duplicity, and each tells hie wife of 
having advanced to leadership in his lodge. The older woman 
was so well pleased with her husband's supposed distinction in 
the order that she made him promise to put up the name of a 
visiting friend for membership. Further perplexity over the 
principal liar arose when a suitor for his second daughter's hand 
proved to be a real Mason. ... To tell the story of the play 
would require volumes, its complications are so numerous. It is 
a house of cards. One card wrongly placed and the whole thing 
would collapse. But it stands, an example of remarkable in- 
genuity. You wonder at the end of the first act bow the fun 
can be kept up on such a slender foundation. But it continues 
and grows to the last curtain." One of the most hilariously 
amusing farces ever written, especially suited to schools and 
Masonic Lodges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cent? 



KEMPY 

A delightful comedy in 3 acts. By J. C. Nugent and 
Elliott Nugent. 4 males, 4 females. 1 interior throughout. 
Costumes, modern. Plays 2Y 2 hours. 

No wonder "Kempy" has been such a tremendous hit in New 
York, Chicago — wherever it has played. It snaps with wit and 
humor of the most delightful kind. It's electric. It's small- 
town folk perfectly pictured. Full of types of varied sorts, each 
one done to a turn and served with zestful sauce. An ideal 
entertainment for amusement purposes. The story ie about a high- 
falutin' daughter who in a fit of pique marries the young plumber- 
architect, who comes to fix the water pipes, just because he 
"understands" her, having read her book and having sworn to 
marry the authoress. But in that story lies all the humor that 
kept the audience laughing every second of every act. Of course 
there are lots of ramifications, each of which bears its own brand 
of laughter-making potentials. But the plot and the story are 
not the main things. There is. for instance, the work of the 
company. The fun growing out of this family mixup is lively ar.d 
clean. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Tree on Eequim: 



NOT SO LONG AGO 

Comedy in a Prologue, 3 acts, and Epilogue. By Arthur 
Richman. 5 males, 7 females. 2 interiors, 1 exterior. 
Costumes, 1876. Plays a full evening. 

Arthur Richman has constructed his play around the Cinderella 
legend. The playwright has shown great wisdom in his choice 
of material, for he has cleverly crossed the Cinderella theme 
with a strain of Romeo and Juliet. Mr. Richman places his 
young lovers in the picturesque New York of forty years ago. 
This time Cinderella is a seamstress in the home of a social 
climber, who may have been the first of her kind, though we 
doubt it. She is interested sentimentally in the son of this house. 
Her father, learning of her infatuation for the young man without 
learning also that it is imaginary on the young girl's part, starts 
out to discover his intentions. He is a poor inventor. The 
mother of the youth, ambitious chiefly for her children, shud- 
ders at the thought of marriage for her son with a sewing-girl. 
But the Prince contrives to put the slipper on the right foot, and 
the end is happiness. The play is quaint and agreeable and the 
three acts are rich in the charm of love and youth. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



THE LOTTERY MAN 

Comedy in 3 acts, by Rida Johnson Young. 4 males, 
5 females. 3 easy interiors. Costumes, modern. Plays 
2% hours. 

In "The Lottery Man" Rida Johnson Young has seized upon 
a custom of some newspapers to increase their circulation by 
clever schemes. Mrs. Young has made the central figure in her 
famous comedy a newspaper reporter, Jack Wright. Wright owes 
his employer money, and he agrees to turn in one of the most 
sensational scoops the paper has ever known. His idea is to 
conduct a lottery, with himself as the prize. The lottery is an- 
nounced. Thousands of old maids buy coupons. Meantime Wright 
falls in love with a charming girl. Naturally he fears that he 
may be won by someone else and starts to get as many tickets 
as his limited means will permit. Finally the last day is an- 
nounced. The winning number is 1323, and is held by Lizzie, 
an old maid, in the household of the newspaper owner. Lizzie 
refuses to give up. It is discovered, however, that she has stolen 
the ticket. With this clue, the reporter threatens her with arrest. 
Of course the coupon is surrendered and Wright gets the girl of 
his choice. Produced at the Bijou Theater, New York, with 
great success. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



MRS. WIGGS OF THE 
CABBAGE PATCH 

Dramatization in 3 acts, by Anne Crawford Flexner from 
the novel by Alice Hegan Rice. 15 males, 11 females. 

1 interior, 1 exterior. Costumes modern and rustic. Plays 
a full evening. 

A capital dramatization of the ever-beloved Mrs. Wiggs and 
her friends, people who have entered the hearts and minds of a 
nation. Mrs. Schultz and Lovey Mary, the pessimistic Miss Hazy 
and the others need no new introduction. Here is characteriza- 
tion, humor, pathos, and what is best and most appealing in 
modern American life. The amateur acting rights are reserved 
for the present in all cities and towns where there are stock 
companies. Royalty will be quoted on application for those cities 
and towns where it may be presented by amateurs. 

Price, 75 Cents. 

THE FOUR-FLUSHER 

Comedy in 3 acts. By Caesar Dunn. 8 males, 5 females. 

2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2^4 hours. 

A comedy of hustling American youth, "The Four-Flusher' f is 
one of those clean and bright plays which reveal the most appeal- 
ing characteristics of our native types. Here is an amusing story 
of a young shoe clerk who through cleverness, personality, and 
plenty of wholesome faith in himself, becomes a millionaire. The 
play is best described as "breezy." It is full of human touches, 
and develops a most interesting story. It may be whole-heartedly 
recommended to high schools. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 

PALS FIRST 

Comedy in a prologue and 3 acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd. 
8 males, 3 females. 1 interior, 1 exterior. Modern cos- 
tumes. Plays 2y 2 hours. 

Based on the successful novel of the same name by F. P. 
Elliott "Pals First" is a decidedly picturesque mystery play. 
Danny and the Dominie, a pair of tramps, enter a mansion and 
persuade the servants and friends that they belong there. They 
are not altogether wrong, though it requires the intervention of 
a judge, two detectives, a villain and an attractive girl to un- 
tangle the complications. A most ingenious play, well adapted 
to performance by high schools and colleges. (Royalty, twenty- 
five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



KICK IN 



Play in 4 acts. By Willard Mack. 7 males, 5 females. 
2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2% hours, 

"Kick In" is the latest of the very few available! mystery 
plays. Like "Within the Law," "Seven Keys to Baldpate," 
"The Thirteenth Chair," and "In the Next Room,"' it is one 
of those thrillers which are accurately described as "not having 
a dull moment in it from beginning to end." It is a play with 
all the ingredients of popularity, not at all difficult to set or to 
act; the plot carries it along, and the situations are built with 
that skill and knowledge of the theatre for which Willard Mack 
is known. An ideal mystery melodrama, for high schools and 
colleges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



TILLY OF BLOOMSBURY 

("Happy-Go-Lucky.") A comedy in 3 acts. By Ian 
Hay. 9 males, 7 females. 2 interior scenes. Modern 
dress. Plays a full evening. 

Into an aristocratic family comes Tilly, lovable and youthful, 
with ideas and manners which greatly upset the circle. Tilly 
is so frankly honest that she makes no secret of her tre- 
mendous affection for the young son of the family ; this brings her 
into many difficulties. But her troubles have a joyous end in 
charmingly blended scenes of sentiment and humor. This comedy 
presents an opportunity for fine acting, handsome stage settings, 
and beautiful costuming. (Royalty, twenty -five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 



BILLY 

Farce-comedy in 3 acts. By George Cameron. 10 males, 
5 females. (A few minor male parts can be doubled, mak- 
ing the cast 7 males, 5 females.) 1 exterior. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

The action of the play takes place on the S. S. "Florida," 
bound for Havana. The story has to do with the disappearance of 
a set of false teeth, which creates endless complications among 
passengers and crew, and furnishes two and a quarter hours of 
the heartiest laughter. One of the funniest comedies produced in 
the last dozen years on the American stage is "Billy" (some- 
times called "Billy's Tombstones"), in which the late Sidney 
Drew achieved a hit in New York and later toured the country 
several times. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Pre? ou Request 



TWEEDLES 

Comedy in 3 acts, by Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon 
Wilson. 5 males, 4 females. 1 interior. Costumes, modern. 
Plays 2*4 hours. 

Julian, scion of the blue-blooded Castleburys, falls in love with 
Winsora Tweedle, daughter of the oldest family in a Maine village. 
The Tweedles esteem the name because it has been rooted in 
the community for 200 years, and they look down on "summer 
people" with the vigor that only "summer boarder" communities 
know. 

The Castleburys are aghast at the possibility of a match, and 
call on the Tweedles to urge how impossible such an alliance would 
be. Mr. Castlebury laboriously explains the barrier of social 
caste, and the elder Tweedle takes it that these unimportant 
summer folk are terrified at the social eminence of the Tweedles. 

Tweedle generously agrees to co-operate with the Castleburys 
to prevent the match. But "Winsora brings her father to realize 
that in reality the Castleburys look upon them as inferiors. The 
old man is infuriated, and threatens vengeance, but is checkmated 
when Julian unearths a number of family skeletons and argues 
that father isn't a Tweedle, since the blood has been bo diluted 
that little remains. Also, Winsora takes the matter into her own 
hands and outfaces the old man. So the youngsters go forth 
triumphant. "Tweedles" is Booth Tarkington at his best. 
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



JUST SUPPOSE 

A whimsical comedy in 3 acts, by A. E. Thomas, author 
of "Her Husband's Wife," "Come Out of the Kitchen, '» 
etc. 6 males, 2 females. 1 interior, 1 exterior. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

It was rumored that during his last visit the Prince of Wales 
appeared for a brief spell under an assumed name somewhere in 
Virginia. It is on this story that A. E. Thomas based "Just 
Suppose." The theme is handled in an original manner. Linda 
Lee Stafford meets one George Shipley (in reality is the Prince 
of Wales). It is a case of love at first sight, but, alas, princes 
cannot select their mates and thereby hangs a tale which Mr. 
Thomas has woven with infinite charm. The atmosphere of the 
South with its chivalry dominates the story, touching in its 
sentiment and lightened here and there with delightful comedy. 
"Just Suppose" scored a big hit at the Henry Miller Theatre, 
New York, with Patricia Collinge. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
Kew and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on. Request 



NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH 

Comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 
<3 females. Modern costumes. 2 interiors. Plays 2% hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four 
hours? It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing but 
the Truth," accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his 
partners, his friends, and his fiancee — these are the incidents in 
William Collier's tremendous comedy hit. "Nothing but the 
Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended as one of the most 
sprightly, amusing and popular comedies of which this country 
can boast. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SEVENTEEN 

A comedy of youth, in 4 acts. By Booth Tarkington. 
8 males, 6 females. 1 exterior, 2 interior scenes. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

It is the tragedy of William Sylvanus Baxter that he has ceased 
to be sixteen and is not yet eighteen. Baby, child, boy, youth 
and grown-up are definite phenomena. The world knows them and 
has learned to put up with them. Seventeen is not an age, it is a 
disease. In its turbulent bosom the leavings of a boy are at war 
with the beginnings of a man. 

In his heart, William Sylvanus Baxter knows all the tortures 
and delights of love ; he is capable of any of the heroisms of his 
heroic sex. But he is still sent on the most humiliating errands 
by his mother, and depends upon his father for the last nickel 
of spending money. 

Silly Bill fell in love with Lolo, the Baby-Talk Lady, a vapid 
if amiable little flirt. To woo her in a manner worthy of himself 
(and incidentally of her) he stole his father's evening clothes. 
When his wooings became a nuisance to the neighborhood, his 
mother stole the clothes back, and had them altered to fit the 
middle-aged form of her husband, thereby keeping William at 
home in the evening. 

But when it came to the Baby-Talk Lady's good-bye dance, not 
to be present was unendurable. How William Sylvanus again 
got the dress suit, and how as he was wearing it at the party the 
negro servant, Genesis, disclosed the fact that the proud garment 
was in reality his father's, are some of the elements in this 
charming comedy of youth. 

"Seventeen" is a story of youth, love and summer time. It is 
a work of exquisite human sympathy and delicious humor. Pro- 
duced by Stuart Walker at the Booth Theatre, New York, it en- 
joyed a run of four years in New York and on the road. Strongly 
recommended for High School production. (Royalty, twenty-five 
dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



POLLYANNA 

"The glad play," in 3 acts. By Catherine Chisholm 
Cushing. Based on the novel by Eleanor H. Porter. 5 
males, 6 females. 2 interiors. Costumes, modern. Plays 
2*4 hours. 

The story has to do with the experiences of an orphan girl 
who is thrust, unwelcome, into the home of a maiden aunt. In 
spite of the tribulations that beset her life she manages to find 
something to be glad about, and brings light into sunless lives. 
Finally, Pollyanna straightens out the love affairs of her elders 
and last, but not least, finds happiness for herself in the heart 
of Jimmy. "Pollyanna" is a glad play and one which is bound 
to give one a better appreciation of people and the world. It 
reflects the humor, tenderness and humanity that gave the story 
euch wonderful popularity among young and old. 

Produced at the Hudson Theatre, New York, and for two sea- 
sons on tour, by George C. Tyler, with Helen Hayes in the part 
©f "Pollyanna." (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cent6. 



THE CHARM SCHOOL 

A comedy in 3 acts. By Alice Duer Miller and Robert 
Milton. 6 males, 10 females (may be played by 5 males 
and 8 females). Any number of school girls may be used 
in the ensembles. Scenes, 2 interiors. Modern eostumes. 
Plays 2% hours. 

The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. Miller's 
readers. It relates the adventures of a handsome young auto-* 
mobile salesman, scarcely out of his 'teens, who, upon inheriting 
a girls' boarding-school from a maiden aunt, insists on running it 
himself, according to his own ideas, chief of which is, by the 
way, that the dominant feature in the education of the young 
girls of to-day should be CHARM. The situations that arise are 
teeming with humor — clean, wholesome humor. In the end the 
young man gives up the school, and promises to wait until the 
most precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. The 
play has the freshness of youth, the inspiration of an extravagant 
hut novel idea, the charm of originality, and the promise of whole- 
eome, sanely amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly rec- 
ommend it for high school production. It was first produced at 
the Bijou Theatre, New York, then toured the country. Two 
companies are now playing it in England. (Royalty, twenty-five 
dollars.) Price, 7S Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York Oty 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free <ra Request 



ON THE HIRING LINE 

Comedy in 3 acts, by Harvey O'Higgins and Harriet 
Ford. 5 males, 4 females. Interior throughout. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

Sherman Fessenden, unable to induce servants to remain for 
any reasonable length of time at his home, hits upon the novel 
expedient of engaging detectives to serve as domestics. 

His second wife, an actress, weary of the country and longing 
for Broadway, has succeeded in discouraging every other cook and 
butler against remaining long at the house, believing that by so 
doing she will win her hushand to her theory that country life 
is dead. So she is deeply disappointed when she finds she cannot 
discourage the new servants. 

The sleuths, believing they had been called to report on the 
actions of those living with the Fessendens, proceeded to warn 
Mr. Fessenden that his wife has been receiving love-notes from 
Steve Mark, an actor friend, and that his daughter has been 
planning to elope with a thief. 

One sleuth causes an uproar in the house, making a mess of 
the situations he has witnessed. Mr. Fessenden, however, has 
learned a lesson and is quite willing to leave the servant problem 
to his wife thereafter. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 



A FULL HOUSE 

A farcical comedy in 3 acts. By Fred Jackson. 7 males, 
7 females. One interior scene. Modern costumes. Time, 
2}/o hours. 

Imagine a reckless and wealthy youth who writes ardent 
love letters to a designing chorus girl, an attorney brother- 
in-law who steals the letters and then gets his hand-bag mixed 
up with the grip of a burglar who has just stolen a valuable 
necklace from the mother of the indiscreet youth, and the 
efforts of the crook to recover his plunder, as incidents in 
the story of a play in which the swiftness of the action 
never halts for an instant. Not only are the situations scream- 
ingly funny but the lines themselves hold a fund of humor at 
all times. This newest and cleverest of all farces was written 
by Fred Jackson, the well-known short-story writer, and is 
backed up by the prestige of an impressive New York success 
and the promise of unlimited fun presented in the most attrac- 
tive form. A cleaner, cleverer farce has not been seen for many 
a long day. "A Full House" is a house full of laughs. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAJtffOSIf Y&E3XOR, 25 West 45th Street, New York CSlty 

Few arocl Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 

A charming comedy in 3 acts. Adapted by A. E. Thomas 
from the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 
6 males, 5 females. 3 interior scenes. Costumes, modern. 
Plays 2% hours. 

The story of "Come Out of the Kitchen" is written around a> 
Virginia family of the old aristocracy, by the name of Dainger- 
field, who, finding themselves temporarily embarrassed, decide to 
rent their magnificent home to a rich Yankee. One of the con- 
ditions of the lease by the well-to-do New Englander stipulates 
that a competent staff of white servants should be engaged for 
his sojourn at the stately home. This servant question presents 
practically insurmountable difficulties, and one of the daughters 
of the family conceives the mad-cap idea that she, her sister and 
their two brothers shall act as the domestic staff for the wealthy 
Yankee. Olivia Daingerfield, who is the ringleader in the merry 
scheme, adopts the cognomen of Jane Allen, and elects to preside 
over the destinies of the kitchen. Her sister, Elizabeth, is ap- 
pointed housemaid. Her elder brother, Paul, is the butler, and 
Charley, the youngest of the group, is appointed to the position of 
bootboy. When Burton Crane arrives from the North, accom- 
panied by Mrs. Faulkner, her daughter, and Crane's attorney, 
Tucker, they find the staff of servants to possess so many methods 
of behavior out of the ordinary that amusing complications begin 
to arise immediately. Olivia's charm and beauty impress Crane 
above everything else, and the merry story continues through a 
maze of delightful incidents until the real identity of the heroine 
is finally disclosed. But not until Crane has professed his love 
for his charming cook, and the play ends with the brightest 
prospects of happiness for these two young people. "Come Out 
of the Kitchen," with Ruth Chatterton in the leading role, made 
a notable success on its production by Henry Miller at the Cohan 
Theatre, New York. It was also a great success at the Strand 
Theatre, London, A most ingenious and entertaining comedy, 
and we strongly recommend it for amateur production. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

GOING SOME 

Play in 4 acts. By Paul Armstrong and Rex Beach. 
12 males, 4 females. 2 exteriors, 1 interior. Costumes, 
modern and cowboy. Plays a full evening. 

Described by the authors as the "chronicle of a certain lot of 
college men and girls, with a tragic strain of phonograph and 
cowboys.'* A rollicking good story, full of action, atmosphere, 
comedy and drama, redolent of the adventurous spirit of youth. 
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Bequest 



DADDY LONG-LEGS 

A charming comedy in 4 acts. By Jean Webster. The 
full cast calls for 6 males, 7 females and 6 orphans, but 
the play, by the easy doubling of some of the characters, 
may be played by 4 males, 4 females and 3 orphans. 
The orphans appear only in the first act and may be played 
by small girls of any age. Four easy interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. 

Many readers of current fiction will recall Jean Webster's 
"Daddy Long-Legs." Miss Webster dramatized her story and it 
was presented at the Gaiety Theatre in New York, under Henry 
Miller's direction, with Ruth Chatterton in the principal role. 
"Daddy Long-Legs" tells the story of Judy, a pretty little 
drudge in a bleak New England orphanage. One day, a visiting 
trustee becomes interested in Judy and decides to give her a 
chance. She does not know the name of her benefactor, but 
simply calls him Daddy Long-Legs, and writes him letters brim- 
ming over with fun and affection. From the Foundling's Home 
she goes to a fashionable college for girls and there develops the 
romance that constitutes much of the play's charm. The New 
York Times reviewer, on the morning after the Broadway pro- 
duction, wrote the following: "If you will take your pencil and 
write down, one below the other, the words delightful, charming, 
sweet, beautiful and entertaining, end then draw a line and add 
them up, the answer will be 'Daddy Long-Legs.' To that result 
you might even add brilliant, pathetic and humorous, but the 
answer even vhen would be just what it was before — the play 
which Miss Jean Webster has made from her book, 'Daddy Long- 
Legs,' and which was presented at the Gaiety last night. To 
attempt to describe the simplicity and beauty of 'Daddy Long- 
Legs' would be like attempting to describe the first breath of 
Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter." "Daddy 
Long-Legs" enjoyed a two-years' run in New York, and was then 
toured for over three years. It is now published in play form for 
the first time. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

THE FAMOUS MRS. FAIR 

A comedy in 4 acts. By James Forbes. 3 males, 10 
females. 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Playa a full 
evening. 

An absorbing play of modern American family life. "The 
Famous Mrs. Fair" is concerned with a strenuous lady who 
returns from overseas to lecture, and consequently neglects her 
daughter, who is just saved in time from disaster. Aeted with 
great success by Blanche Bates and Henry Miller. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 76 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York CM*? 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free o* Request 



MICE AND MEN. 61 

again. How dare you be so weak and silly t Aa if he could 
stay idling here and spoil all his future chances, (sobs) In my 
regret there is some excuse, for to me he is a relative, or 
he will be to-morrow, and it is quite proper to grieve about 
a relative. 

Embury, (heard outside) Yes, yes, trim the hedge down. 

Mrs. D. (listening) 'Sh I 

Enter Embury from R. 

Embury, (coming down) And I was not here to greet you 
after all. Let me make amends, (extends his hands) Welcome, 
child, welcome to your new home, (she timidly places her 
hands in his) 

Mrs. D. Everything is in readiness, sir Would you like 
that I should show Miss Peggy through the house before 
I go? 

Embury. No, I thank you. 

Mrs D. Then I'd best deliver up the keys, (produces from 
her basket a bunch of keys hung on a white ribbon) I've taken 
the liberty to string them on a white ribbon, and now I'll be 
getting back. There's much to do. (curtseys and goes off k. ) 

Peggy. Am 1 not then to go through the —through our 
house to-day ? 

Embury, (nervously) Yes, yes, child. But I have a fancy 
for you to see it first, accompanied by no one but — but your 
future husband. 

Peggy. Then shall we go now ? 

Embury, (absent-mindedly) Nay, not now. (looks up) There 
is plenty of time, dear one. (cheerily) And you haven't seen 
half the garden yet. I hope you like it Peggy. 

Peggy. Indeed, I like it very much, guardian, (he looks at 
her with a quiet sadness) I ask your pardon I remem' 
you desired me to call you by your first name, and try as I 
may, I have not yet been able to accomplish it But I will 
try again ; believe me, I will. 

Embury. Nay, child, I do not wish you to do anytivng 
that costs an effort. And I am not sure but the word 
"guardian " has a gentle and more appropriate sound.. 

Peggy, (at extreme r. of bench) 'Tis difficult to break 
one's habit, is it not ? 

Embury. Most difficult, and many things that seem easy 
at the start grow perplexing as one advances. Do you 
remember last night I spoke of a little talk we were to have I 
(she nods ; he sits beside her on bench) 13y sleeping on the 
subject, I thought to tackle it more readily, but I could not 
sleep. And at sunrise I arose and went out in the meadows, 
and what, think you, was the subject of my mediUtitoo I 



62 MICE AND MEN. 

Come here, child, (she sits nearer to him) Peggy, I hart 
been wondering if, in planning out your future, I have done 
always what was right. I mean for you. Right for your 
happiness. 

Peggy. Yon have always acted for my happiness, deaf 
guardian. 

Embury, (shaking his head) That is what I have told my- 
self, (smiles sadly) But I've lately been troubled with doubts 
as to my own veracity. 

Peggy. But all that has been pleasant in my life I owe to 
you. 

Embury, (taking her hand) Nay, dear heart, you owe me 
nothing. The happiness you have already bestowed on me 
Is a dower that will last me all my life. (Peggy cries a little) 
And remember this— always remember this. No relation 
that you might bear to me could enhance the tenderness in 
which I already hold you. (rises) And now we'll say no more 
about these things, except that what must, will be, and 
what is, is right. 

Peggy. Then what you have planned for me, that muss 
be right also. Do you fear that as a wife I shall disappoint 
you ? (rises) 

Embury. No. As a wife you will not disappoint me. 
And what I have planned is right, quite right, (changes hi$ 
tone) But tell me of your new gown and bonnets— and fur- 
belows. Have they all been fashioned to your liking ? (sits 
again) 

Peggy. Yes, and to yours, I hope. 

Embury. I warrant Mrs. Deborah has not forgot the ric« 
tnd the old shoes. Such sacred functions will scarce brook 
■eg'iect, 

Peggy. She fears only an insufficient audience. 

Embury. 'Tis true our supply of guests is dwindling 
down, (pauses) Do you know that George Lovell proposes 
so leave us f 

Peggy, (quietly) Yes. 

Embury. And that he proposes to go at once — to-day t 

Peggy. Yes. 

Embury. It is my wish that he should stay. 

Peggy. Stay for— for our wedding. 

Embury. Yes. For our — stay for the wedding. 

Peggy. Have you asked him to remain 1 

Embury. No— I want you to ask him. 

Peggy. 1 1 (she is much confused). 

Embury. Have you the courage to persuade Mm for hi» 
good, when the advice may cause you a little temporary 
paint 



MICE AND MEN. 63 

PiGGf. (quietly) Yes. 

Embury. Then you shall ask him to give op his roving 
design. I would have him settle down at home, (pauses) I 
would have him— marry. 

Peggy, (quickly, off her guard) Marry ! (half rises) 

Embury, (gently preventing her) I have told you it is for his 
own good. Will you do it ? 

Pi ggy. Think you my words will carry so much 
weight 1 

Embury. If you speak them with conviction, (takes a 
Utter from his pocket. You may give him this. It will con- 
firm what you may say. (rises) He'll likely be here anon. 
In the meantime we'll explore the garden 'Tis a rare old 
garden, (leads her to r.) But I am forgetting your keys, (he 
tongs ribbon on her arm) You'll need them by-and-bye. 
They will open all the doors, and I promise you there is nob 
a blue chamber in all the castle. Come, pretty one, let us 
to the garden, (he takes her hand and they go off r. ; presently 
Lovell enters dawn the centre path ; he looks about the 
garden ; Peter enters from the upper side of the house) 

Lovkll. So that is the new house, eh ? Is my unole 
within ? 

Peter, (coming down a little) No, Captain, he'll be some- 
where about the grounds, though. 

Lovell. I think his message bade me wait in the 
garden. 

Peter. Yes, Captain. In the garden, near the arbour. 
This is the garden, (points) that be the arbour, and there be 
you. 

Lovell. If you see my uncle, say that I am coma. 

Peter. Yes, Captain, (goes off upper r.) 

Lovell walks impatiently to and fro ; presently he espies the 
black wrap, he looks at it, then about the garden eagerly ; 
then he sees the green book on bench, he takes it up, turns 
the leaven and finds the withered shamrocks, he gives a 
look of pleased surprise, he half turns so that his back is 
towards R. Enter Peggy ; she still has the keys on her 
arm, she gets nearly to the middle of the stage before she 
sees Lovell, then she stops timidly, and turns as if to go 
back ; he turns and closes the book. 

Lovell. I did not know that you— that I should meet you 
here. 

Peggy, (with embarrassment) No, I— I went to see the 
garden, but I remembered that I had left my book, and 
hurried back, (holds ovt her hand) I want my book. 



64 MICE AND MEN. 

Lovell. (indicating the book he holds) This t 

Peggy. Yes. 

Lovell. (with a alight frown and a constraint in hii voice) 
You did keep the shamrocks. 

Peggy. Yes, but I am not going to keep them after to day. 

Lovell. Then I may have them back ? 

Peggy. No. It was my intention to bury them, but in all 
the way along I found no likely spot, {extends her hand again 
for the book) 

Lovell. (giving it, bitterly) Such weeds sometimes have a 
knack of taking root, and springing up afresh. 

Peggy. Not when they are quite dead, (opens book) See, 
there's severed leaves and broken stems. 

Lovell. (moving slightly away) I've a notion my unci© 
must have sent for me to admire the outside of his dwelling, 
since he did not ask me in. Perhaps you will repair his 
omission. 

Peggy, (shaking her head) 1 mustn't. I do not like to. 
I've not been in myself as yet. Mr. Embury has a fancy 
regarding my first inspection, (looks back) And he's not here. 
But I know why he sent for you. (timidly) He wishes you to 
change your mind about leaving England. 

Lovell. He's intimated as much already, and already 
Fve declined. 

Peggy. But he thought were I to ask yon 

Lovell. Ask me what ? 

Peggy, (nervously) To stay at home — to settle down some- 
where near — near — here. 

Lovell. (frowning) And you — you would propose that ? 
(advances to her) 

Peggy. He assured me 'twould be for your good, and he 
always speaks the truth. 

Lovell. My good, forsooth, (goes up o. and laughs harshly) 
It seems Mr. Embury has a passion for shaping other 
people's destinies. Is there any more to his message ? (turn*) 

Peggy. Yes. (tremulously and lowering her eyes) He would 
have you — have you marry, (sits on bench) 

Lovell. (startled) Upon my life! (stands off and looks it 
her) And I once thought you had a heart. 

Peggy, (half crying) Ca^.'t you see it is my task - doing 
what I've promised ? 

Lovell. And so you would have me marry ? (she nod* 
•lowly) You urge me to it from a sense of duty. Ha — ha — ha I 
Tis a droll spectacle. You, my mentor and adviser. 

Peggy, (spiritedly) Indeed, I see nothing odd in that. 
You forget I am your aunt — or I shall bo by to-morrow. 
(rue*) 



MICE AND MEN. 65 

Lovell. (backs to L.O., sarcastically) Ten thousand par- 
dons. I had forgotten the respect due to your venerable 

position. 

Peggy. Tis not kind in you to ridicule me. 

Lovell. {angrily) And pray, have you shown any regard 
for my sensibilities ? But continue, I beg. Your errand 
isn't finished. 

Peggy. I've nothing more to say. 

Lovell. And am I not to learn the description or 
name of the lady my uncle has so generously provided 
for me. 

Peggy. He did not tell me. But he gave me a letter. 
You may learn in that, (produces Embury's letter from her 
pocket) 

Lovell. (waving it aside) Read it, I pray you. (she skake$ 
her head ; he takes it, breaks the seal, spreads it open, then 
hands it back) As my aunt it is one of your duties, (she take$ 
it, glances timidly at the page, reads the first few lines, then 
suddenly gives a little hysterical scream, drops the letter, look* 
round wildly, then runs off upper r ; Lovell turns in aston- 
ishment, then picks up letter; reading) "The affeccion that 
my dear girl entertains for you has long been known to me, 
but it is only of late since I have watched you in her com- 
pany, that I have known this attachment was mutual, in 
the endeavour to secure my own happiness, I have tried to 
put my discovery behind me, but I can no longer cheat my- 
self—nor you. Take with my dear one the little home she 
brings you, and if you are half as happy dwelling in it as I 
have been in planning it, then my life's experiment can not 
be counted a failure. Let no thought of me cloud your 
happiness. I am neither a martvr nor a hero. Bachelor- 
hood has many charms to one of my temperament, and old 
habits are hard to break." (Lovell looks dazed, then turm 
excitedly) Where is she ? (he goes up to r., hurries off and 
returns immediately, leading Peggy ; she has been crying) 
You should not run away from me, because you are mine 
now — all mine. He has given you to me— to keep for ever. 
He means it. You must read it all by-and-bye, and then 
you'll say with me, God bless him ! Come, look me in the 
eyes, and say you love me. Remember, 'tis for my good. 

Peggy, (looking up timidly) Need I say it ? Saying is so 

hard, but (she pauses, and then gently puts her arm round 

his neck ; he bends to kiss her ; she draws back timidly) Would 
you like me to show you the house ? 

Lovell. May you ? 

Peggy, Yes, I may now. See, here are the keys. I'm 
told the furniture is beautiful, and there's » (with a 



66 MICE AND MEN. 

pleased smile and lowered voice) There la a harpsichord, (he 
takes her hand, and together they enter the house) 

Enter Embury from R. ; he walks slowly, uUh hand* 
linked behind him ; as he reaches the house the harpsi- 
chord is heard playing the old melody, " My love is like 
a red, red rose " ; he halts a moment and then listens^ 
while the two voices take up the refrain and finish the 
verse to the harpsichord accompaniment ; then he pro- 
ceeds on his way, and goes sUyidy up the centre path ; 
when he comes to the little wicket gate, he passes it and 
closes it behind him, turns and facing the audience, he 
fastens the latch, gives one more glance at the cottage^ 
then continues along the path, and out of sight ; the 
tinging is still heard within as the curtain folk* 



Knj> or PLA.Y* 



ARE YOU A MASON? 

Farce in 3 acts. By Leo Ditrichstein. 7 males, 7 fe- 
males. Modern costumes. Plays 2% hours. 1 interior. 

"Are You a Mason?" is one of those delightful farces like 
"Charley's Aunt" that are always fresh. "A mother and a 
daughter," says the critic of the New York Herald, "had hus- 
bands who account for absences from the joint household on 
frequent evenings, falsely pretending to be Masons. The men 
do not know each other's duplicity, and each tells his wife of 
having advanced to leadership in his lodge. The older woman 
was so well pleased with her husband's supposed distinction in 
the order that she made him promise to put up the name of a 
visiting friend for membership. Further perplexity over the 
principal liar arose when a suitor for his second daughter's hand 
proved to be a real Mason. ... To tell the story of the play 
would require volumes, its complications are so numerous. It is 
a house of cards. One card wrongly placed and the whole thing 
would collapse. But it stands, an example of remarkable in- 
genuity. You wonder at the end of the first act how the fun 
can be' kept up on such a slender foundation. But it continues 
and grows to the last curtain." One of the most hilariously 
amusing farces ever written, especially suited to schools and 
Masonic Lodges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Gents. 



KEMPY 

A delightful comedy in 3 acts. By J. C. Nugent and 
Elliott Nugent. 4 males, 4 females. 1 interior throughout. 
Costumes, modern. Plays 2y 2 hours. 

No wonder "Kempy" has been such a tremendous hit in New 
York, Chicago — wherever it has played. It snaps with wit and 
humor of the most delightful kind. It's electric. It's small- 
town folk perfectly pictured. Full of types of varied sorts, each 
one done to a turn and served with zestful sauce. An ideal 
entertainment for amusement purposes. The story is about a high- 
falutin' daughter who in a fit of pique marries the young plumber- 
architect, who comes to fix the water pipes, just because he 
"understands" her, having read her book and having sworn to 
marry the authoress. But in that story lies all the humor that 
kept the audience laughing every second of every act. Of course 
there are lots of ramifications, each of which bears its own brand 
of laughter-making potentials. But the plot and the story are 
not the main things. There is. for instance, the work of the 
company. The fun growing out of this family uiixup is lively and 
clean. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL jfKBNCH, 25 West 45th Streev, Nw York Otty 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Pre© on Request 



NOT SO LONG AGO 

Comedy in a Prologue, 3 acts, and Epilogue. By Arthur 
Eichman. 5 males, 7 females. 2 interiors, 1 exterior. 
Costumes, 1876. Plays a full evening. 

Arthur Eichman has constructed his play around the Cinderella 
legend. The playwright has shown great wisdom in his choice 
of material, for he has cleverly crossed the Cinderella theme 
with a strain of Romeo and Juliet. Mr. Richman places his 
young lovers in the picturesque New York of forty years ago. 
This time Cinderella is a seamstress in the home of a social 
climber, who may have been the first of her kind, though we 
doubt it. She is interested sentimentally in the son of this house. 
Her father, learning of her infatuation for the young man without 
learning also that it is imaginary on the young girl's part, starts 
out to discover his intentions. He is a poor inventor. The 
mother of the youth, ambitious chiefly for her children, shud- 
ders at the thought of marriage for her son with a sewing-girl. 
But the Prince contrives to put the slipper on the right foot, and 
the end is happiness. The play is quaint and agreeable and the 
three acts are rich in the charm of love and youth. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



THE LOTTERY MAN 

Comedy in 3 acts, by Eida Johnson Young. 4 males, 
5 females. 3 easy interiors. Costumes, modern. Plays 
2*4 hours. 

In "The Lottery Man" Rida Johnson Young has seized upon 
a custom of some newspapers* to increase their circulation by 
clever schemes. Mrs. Young has made the central figure in her 
famous comedy a newspaper reporter, Jack Wright. Wright owes 
his employer money, and he agrees to turn in one of the most 
sensational scoops the paper has ever known. His idea is to 
conduct a lottery, with himself as the prize. The lottery is an- 
nounced. Thousands of old maids buy coupons. Meantime Wright 
falls in love with a charming girl. Naturally he fears that he 
may be won by someone else and starts to get as many tickets 
as his limited means will permit. Finally the last day is an- 
nounced. The winning number is 1323, and is held by Lizzie, 
an old maid, in the household of the newspaper owner. Lizzie 
refuses to give up. It is discovered, however, that 6he has stolen 
the ticket. With this clue, the reporter threatens her with arrest. 
Of course the coupon is surrendered and Wright gets the girl of 
his choice. Produced at the Bijou Theater, New York, with 
great succeBS. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



MRS. WIGGS OF THE 
CABBAGE PATCH 

Dramatization in 3 acts, by Anne Crawford Flexner from 
the novel by Alice Hegan Rice. 15 males, 11 females. 

1 interior, 1 exterior. Costumes modern and rustic. Plays 
a full evening, 

A capital dramatization of the ever-beloved Mrs. Wiggs and 
her friends, people who have entered the hearts and minds of a 
nation. Mrs. Schultz and Lovey Mary, the pessimistic Miss Hazy 
and the others need no new introduction. Here is chai'acterizu- 
tion, humor, pathos, and what is best and most appealing in 
modern American life. The amateur acting rights are reserved 
for the present in all cities and towns where there are stock 
companies. Royalty will be quoted on application for those cities 
and towns where it may be presented by amateurs. 

Price, 75 Cents. 

THE FOUR-FLUSHER 

Comedy in 3 acts. By Caesar Dunn. 8 males, 5 females, 

2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2 1 / 4 hours. 

A comedy of hustling American youth, "The Four-Plusher" is 
one of those clean and bright plays which reveal the most appeal- 
ing characteristics of our native types. Here is an amusing story 
of a young shoe clerk who through cleverness, personality, and 
plenty of wholesome faith in himself, becomes a millionaire. The 
play is best described as "breezy." It is full of human touches, 
and develops a most interesting story. It may be whole-heartedly 
recommended to high schools. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 

PALS FIRST 

Comedy in a prologue and 3 acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd. 
8 males, 3 females. 1 interior, 1 exterior. Modern cos- 
tumes. Plays 2V 2 hours. 

Based on the successful novel of the same name by F. P 
Elliott, "Pals First" is a decidedly picturesque mystery play. 
Danny and the Dominie, a pair of tramps, enter a mansion and 
persuade the servants and friends that they belong there. They 
are not altogether wrong, though it requires the intervention of 
a judge, two detectives, a villain and an attractive girl to un- 
ons. A most ingenious play, well adapted 
to performance by ni<rb schools and colleges. (Royalty, twenty- 
five d i Price, 75 Cents. 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



KICK IN 

Play in 4 acts. By Willard Mack. 7 males, 5 females. 
2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2V 2 hours. 

"Kick In" is the latest of the very few available mystery 
plays. Like "Within the Law," "Seven Keys to Baldpate," 
"The Thirteenth Chair," and "In the Next Room," it is one 
of those thrillers which are accurately described as "not having 
a dull moment in it from beginning to end." It is a play with 
all the ingredients of popularity, not at all difficult to set or to 
act; the plot carries it along, and the situations are built with 
that skill and knowledge of the theatre for which Willard Mack 
is known. An ideal mystery melodrama, for high schools and 
colleges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



TILLY OF BLOOMSBURY 

("Happy-Go-Lucky.") A comedy in 3 acts. By Ian 
Hay. 9 males, 7 females. 2 interior scenes. Modern 
dress. Plays a full evening. 

Into an aristocratic family comes Tilly, lovable and youthful, 
with ideas and manners which greatly upset the circle. Tilly 
is so frankly honest that she makes no secret of her tre- 
mendous affection for the young son of the family; this brings her 
into many difficulties. But her troubles have a joyous end in 
charmingly blended scenes of sentiment and humor. This comedy 
presents an opportunity for fine acting, handsome stage settings, 
and beautiful costuming. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 



BILLY 

Farce-comedy in 3 acts. By George Cameron. 10 males, 
5 females. (A few minor male parts can be doubled, mak- 
ing th6 cast 7 males, 5 females.) 1 exterior. Costumes, 
modern.. Plays 2% hours. 

The action of the play takes place on the S. S. "Florida," 
bound for Havana. The story has to do with the disappearance of 
a set of false teeth, which creates endless complications among 
passengers and crew, and furnishes two and a quarter hours of 
the heartiest laughter. One of the funniest comedies produced in 
the last dozen years on the American stage is "Billy" (some- 
times called "Billy's Tombstones"), in which the late Sidney 
Drew achieved a hit in New York and later toured the country 
several times. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free ou. Request 



TWEEDLES 

Comedy in 3 acts, by Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon 
Wilson. 5 males, 4 females. 1 interior. Costumes, modern. 
Plays 2^ hours. 

Julian, scion of the blue-blooded Castleburys, falls in Love with 
Winsora Tweedle, daughter of the oldest family in a Maine village. 
The Tweedles esteem the name because it has been rooted in 
the community for 200 years, and they look down on "summer 
people" with the vigor that only "summer boarder" communities 
know. . , 

The Castleburys are aghast at the possibility of a match, and 
call on the Tweedles to urge how impossible such an alliance would 
be Mr Castlebury laboriously explains the barrier of social 
caste, and the elder Tweedle takes it that these unimportant 
summer folk are terrified at the social eminence of the Tweedles. 

Tweedle generously agrees to co-operate with the Castleburys 
to prevent the match. But Winsora brings her father to realize 
that in reality the Castleburys look upon them as inferiors. The 
old man is infuriated, and threatens vengeance, but is checkmated 
when Julian unearths a number of family skeletons and argues 
that father isn't a Tweedle, since the blood has been so diluted 
that little remains. Also, Winsora takes the matter into her own 
hands and outfaces the old man. So the youngsters go forth 
triumphant. "Tweedles" is Booth Tarkington at his best, 
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



JUST SUPPOSE 

A whimsical comedy in 3 acts, by A. E. Thomaa, author 
of "Her Husband's Wife," "Come Out of the Kitchen,'' 
etc. 6 males, 2 females. 1 interior, 1 exterior. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

It was rumored that during his last visit the Prince of Wales 
appeared for a brief spell under an assumed name somewhere in 
Virginia. It is on this story that A. E. Thomas based "Just 
Suppose." The theme is handled in an original manner. Linda 
Lee Stafford meets one George Shipley (in reality is the Prince 
of Wales). It is a case of love at first sight, but, alas, princes 
cannot select their mates and thereby hangs a tale which Mr. 
Thomas has woven with infinite charm. The atmosphere of the 
South with its chivalry dominates the story, touching in its 
sentiment and lightened here and there with delightful comedy. 
"Just Suppose" scored a big hit at the Henry Miller Theatre 
New York, with Patricia Collinge. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH 

Comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 
6 females. Modern costumes. 2 interiors. Plays 2% hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four 
hours? It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing but 
the Truth," accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his 
rs, his friends, and his fiancee — these are the incidents in 
William Collier's tremendous comedy hit. "Nothing but the 
Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended as one of the most 
sprightly, amusing and popular comedies of which this country 
can boast. (Eoyalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SEVENTEEN 

A comedy of youth, in 4 acts. By Booth Tarkington. 
8 males, 6 females. 1 exterior, 2 interior scenes. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

It is the tragedy of William Sylvanus Baxter that he has ceased 
to be sixteen and is not yet eighteen. Baby, child, boy, youth 
and grown-up are definite phenomena. The world knows them and 
has learned to put up with them. Seventeen is not an age, it is a 
disease. In its turbulent bosom the leavings of a boy are at war 
with the beginnings of a man. 

In his heart, William Sylvanus Baxter knows all the tortures 
and delights of love ; he is capable of any of the heroisms of his 
heroic sex. But he is still sent on the most humiliating errands 
by hip mother, and depends upon his father for the last nickel 
of spending money. 

Silly Bill fell in love with Lolo, the Baby-Talk Lady, a vapid 
if amiable little flirt. To woo her in a manner worthy of himself 
accidentally of her) he stole his father's evening clothes. 
When his wooings became a nuisance to the neighborhood, his 
mother stole the clothes back, and had them altered to fit the 
middle -aged form of her husband, thereby keeping William at 
home in the evening. 

But when it came to the Baby-Talk Lady's good-bye dance, not 
to be present was unendurable. How William Sylvanus again 
got the dress suit, and how as he was wearing it at the party the 
negro servant, Genesis, disclosed the fact that the proud garment 
was in reality his father's, are some of the elements in this 
charming comedy of youth. 

"Seventeen" is a story of youth, love and summer time. It is 
a work of exquisite human sympathy and delicious humor. Pro- 
duced by Stuart Walker at the Booth Theatre, New York, it en- 
joyed a run of four years in New York and on the road. Strongly 
recommended for High School production. (Royalty, twenty-five 
dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



POLLYANNA 

"The glad play," in 3 acts. By Catherine Chisholm 
Gushing. Based on the novel by Eleanor H. Porter. 5 
males, 6 females. 2 interiors. Costumes, modern. Plays 
2% hours. 

The story has to do with the experiences of an orphan girl 
-who is thrust, unwelcome, into the home of a maiden aunt. In 
spite of the tribulations that beset her life she manages to find 
something to be glad about, and brings light into sunless lives. 
Finally, Pollyanna straightens out the love affairs of her elders, 
and last, but not least, finds happiness for herself in the heart 
of Jimmy. "Pollyanna" is a glad play and one which is bound 
to give one a better appreciation of people and the world. It 
reflects the humor, tenderness and humanity that gave the story 
such wonderful popularity among young and old. 

Produced at the Hudson Theatre, New York, and for two sea- 
sons on tour, by George C. Tyler, with Helen Hayes in the part 
of "Pollyanna." (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cente. 

THE CHARM SCHOOL 

A comedy in 3 acts. By Alice Duer Miller and Robert 
Milton. 6 males, 10 females (may be played by 5 males 
and 8 females). Any number of school girls may be used 
in the ensembles. Scenes, 2 interiors. Modern costumes. 
Plays 2% houTs. 

The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. Miller 'a 
readers. It relates the adventures of a handsome young auto- 
mobile salesman, scarcely out of his 'teens, who, upon inheriting 
a girls' boarding-school from a maiden aunt, insists on running it 
himself, according to his own ideas, chief of which is, by the 
-way that the dominant feature in the education of the young 
girls of to-day should be CHARM. The situations that arise are 
teeming with humor — clean, wholesome humor. In the end the 
young man gives up the school, and promises to wait until the 
most precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. The 
play has the freshness of youth, the inspiration of an extravagant 
tut novel idea, the charm of originality, and the promise of whole- 
some, sanely amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly rec- 
ommend it for high school production. It was first produced at 
the Bijou Theatre, New York, then toured the country. Two 
companies are now playing it in England. (Royalty, twenty-five 
dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York CWly 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Bluest 



ON THE HIRING LINE 

Comedy in 3 acts, by Harvey O'Higgins and Harriet 
Ford. 5 males, 4 females. Interior throughout. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

Sherman Fessenden, unable to induce servants to remain for 
any reasonable length of time at his home, hits upon the novel 
expedient of engaging detectives to serve as domestics. 

His second wife, an actress, weary of the country and longing 
for Broadway, has succeeded in discouraging every other cook and 
butler against remaining long at the house, believing that by so 
doing she will win her hushand to her theory that country life 
is dead. So she is deeply disappointed when she finds she cannot 
discourage the new servants. 

The sleuths, believing they had been called to report on the 
actions of those living with the Fessendens, proceeded to warn 
Mr. Fessenden that his wife has been receiving love-notes from 
Steve Mark, an actor friend, and that his daughter has been 
planning to elope with a thief. 

One sleuth causes an uproar in the house, making a mess of 
the situations he has witnessed. Mr. Fessenden, however, has 
learned a lesson and is quite willing to leave the servant problem 
to his wife thereafter. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 



A FULL HOUSE 

A farcieal comedy in 3 acts. By Fred Jackson. 7 males, 
7 females. One interior scene. Modern costumes. Time, 
2y 2 hours. 

Imagine a reckless and wealthy youth who writes ardent 
love letters to a designing chorus girl, an attorney brother- 
in-law who steals the letters and then gets his hand-bag mixed 
up with the grip of a burglar who has just stolen a valuable 
necklace from the mother of the indiscreet youth, and the 
efforts of the crook to recover his plunder, as incidents in 
the story of a play in which the swiftness of the action 
never halts for an instant. Not only are the situations scream- 
ingly funny but the lines themselves hold a fund of humor at 
all times. This newest and cleverest of all farces was written 
by Fred Jackson, the well-known short-story writer, and ia 
backed up by the prestige of an impressive New York success 
and the promise of unlimited fun presented in the most attrac* 
tive form. A cleaner, cleverer farce has not been seen for many 
a long day. "A Full House" is a house full of laughs. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 76 Cents. 

h i i i i i -H i m i ' - i -. i i—— —I i 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New axtcl Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free en Request 



COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 

A charming comedy in 3 acts. Adapted by A. E. Thomas 
from the etory of the same name by Alice Duer Miller, 
6 males, 5 females. 3 interior scenes. Costumes, modern. 
Plays 2% hours. 

The story of ''dome Out of the Kitchen" is written around a 
Virginia family of the old aristocracy, by the name of Dainger- 
field, who, finding themselves temporarily embarrassed, decide to 
rent their magnificent home to a rich Yankee. One of the con- 
ditions of the lease by the well-to-do New Englander stipulates 
that a competent staff of white servants should be engaged for 
his sojourn at tho stately home. This servant question presents 
practically insurmountable difficulties, and one of the daughters 
of the family conceives the mad-cap idea that she, her sister and 
their two brothers shall act as the domestic staff for the wealthy 
Yankee. Olivia Daingerfield, who is the ringleader in the merry 
scheme, adopts the cognomen of Jane Allen, and elects to preside 
i>vt>r the destinies of the kitchen. Her sister, Elizabeth, is ap- 
pointed housemaid. Her elder brother, Paul, is the butler, and 
Charley, the youngest of the group, is appointed to the position of 
bootboy. When Burton Crane arrives from the North, accom- 
panied by Mrs. Faulkner, her daughter, and Crane's attorney, 
Tucker, they find the staff of servants to possess so many methods 
of behavior out of the ordinary that amusing complications begin 
to arise immediately. Olivia's charm and beauty impress Crane 
above everything else, and the merry story continues through a 
maze of delightful incidents until the real identity of the heroine 
is finally disclosed. But not until Crane has professed his love 
for his charming cook, and the play ends with the brightest 
prospects of happiness for these two young people. "Come Out 
of the Kitchen," with Ruth Chatterton in the leading rdle, made 
a notable success on its production by Henry Miller at the Cohan 
Theatre, New York. It was also a great success at the Strand 
Theatre, London. A most ingenious and entertaining comedy, 
and we strongly recommend it for amateur production. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

GOING SOME 

Play in 4 acts. By Paul Armstrong and Rex Beach. 
12 males, 4 females. 2 exteriors, 1 interior. Costumes, 
modern and cowboy. Plays a full evening. 

Described by the authors as the "chronicle of a certain lot of 
college men and girls, with a tragic strain of phonograph and 
cowboys." A rollicking good story, full of action, atmosphere, 
comedy and drama, redolent of the adventurous Bpirifc of youth. 
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New Yak Ottf 
New as6 Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Bequest 



DADDY LONG-LEGS 

A charming comedy in 4 acts. By Jean Webster. The 
full cast calls for 6 males, 7 females and 6 orphans, but 
the play, by the easy doubling of some of the characters, 
may be played by 4 males, 4 females and 3 orphans. 
The orphans appear only in the first act and may be played 
by small girls of any age. Four easy interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. 

Many readers of current fiction will recall Jean Webster's 
"Daddy Long-Legs," Miss Webster dramatized her Btory and it 
was presented at the Gaiety Theatre in New York, under Henry 
Miller's direction, with Ruth Chatterton in the principal role. 
"Daddy Long-Legs" tells the story of Judy, a pretty little 
drudge in a bleak New England orphanage. One day, a visiting 
trustee becomes interested in Judy and decides to give her a 
chance. She does not know the name of her benefactor, but 
simply calls him Daddy Long-Legs, and writes him letters brim- 
ming over with fun and affection. From the Foundling's Home 
she goes to a fashionable college for girls and there develops the 
romance that constitutes much of the play's charm. The New 
York TPmeB reviewer, on the morning after the Broadway pro- 
duction, wrote the following: "If you will take your pencil and 
write down, one below the other, the words delightful, charming, 
sweet, beautiful and entertaining, end then draw a line and add 
them up, the answer will be 'Daddy Long-Legs.' To that result 
you might even add brilliant, pathetic and humorous, but the 
answer even then would be just what it was before — the play 
which MisB Jean Webster has made from her book, 'Daddy Long- 
Legs,' and which was presented at the Gaiety last night. To 
attempt to describe the simplicity and beauty of 'Daddy Long- 
Legs' would be like attempting to describe the first breath of 
Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter." "Daddy 
Long-Legs" enjoyed a two-years' run in New York, and was then 
toured for over three years. It is now published in play form for 
the first time. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

THE FAMOUS MRS. FAIR 

A comedy in 4 acts. By James Forbes. 3 males, 10 
females. 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays a full 
evening. 

An absorbing play of modern American family life. "The 
Famous Mrs. Fair" is concerned with a strenuous lady who 
returns from overseas to lecture, and consequently neglects her 
daughter, who is just saved in time from disaster. Acted with 
great success by Blanche Bates and Henry Miller (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Prica, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New T«w* Oily 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free oo Request 



l.IBKHKY Ul- LUM^RCOv 

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009 934 630 



Standard Library Edition 



George M. Cohan 
Winchell Smith 
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Paul Green 
James Montgomery 
Arthur Richman 
Philip Barry 
George Middleton 
Channing Pollock 
George Kaufman 
Martin Flavin 
Victor Mapes 
Kate Douglas Wiggin 
Rida Johnson Young 
Margaret Mayo 
Roi Cooper Megrue 
Jean Webster 
George Broadhurst 
George Hobart 
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Percy MacKaye 
Willard Mack 
Jerome K. Jerome 
R. C. Carton 
William Cary Duncan 
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 



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Catherine Chisholm Cushing J. C. and Elliott Nugent 
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French's International Copyrighted Edition contains plays, comedies 

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